


Sunder

by Tamagoakura (orphan_account)



Series: The Gore Collection [4]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Animal Death, Bestiality, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, F/M, Guro, Incest, M/M, Multi, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slurs, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-01-16 04:17:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 92,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1331593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Tamagoakura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Serial killers Alfred and Matthew just want to elude capture and remain free to commit their ghastly crimes. The arrival of a new killer into their New York territory gets them noticed by some of the area's nastiest organizations and their comfortable life is harshly shaken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The sun was dipping low behind shadowed woods, casting orange pools across the beautiful post-Victorian style home’s cherry wood floors and eggshell walls. Shadows danced across an elegant cream furniture set and flowing white lace curtains that were now ruined. Saturated in the ruby stains of fresh blood.

A warm summer breeze slid through the shattered sliding glass door where they had entered, the tiny shards glimmering in the soft light. Marble coffee table overturned, a veritable sea of paperwork, books, and an empty coffee mug strewn across the floor.

They came through the door, the younger knocking politely and requesting to be let inside. She screamed at them to leave, rattled off a thousand insults before the older grinned as he swung his Louisville Slugger, shattering the door into an explosion of a thousand glittering pieces. She had tried to run, only to trip over the expensive table and go sprawling across the floor, leaving her stunned with a twisted ankle.

A few feet away from the table was a dark pool of red that stretched into a long, smeared trail. The slick prints of her hands against the floor, a feeble attempt to drag herself to safety. Sneaker prints from where they followed her. Another pool of blood where she had stopped, unable to continue through the burning pain. Dark droplets that had fallen from her corpse led to the stairway.

“Darn it Alfred, stop playing around and help!” Matthew grumbled, shooting a glare down at his brother. He rearranged her thin legs in his arms, back sore from hefting the majority of her weight as his brother babbled on and on about the woman’s home, character, and physical aspects.

Alfred sighed and put more effort into lifting her, his arms locked beneath her armpits. “Whatever, Mattie, I’m lifting more than you! Stop being so lazy!" He flashed a toothy grin before he dropped her and stepped aside.

Matthew gave a yelp at the sudden weight of her falling to the stairs with a loud thud. He was forced to let her go to stop himself from tumbling down as well. She rolled to the living room floor. Alfred laughed loudly at the off-kilter way she fell, arms and legs twisting painfully across the stairs until she came to rest face-down on the floor.

Alfred grabbed the banister and used it to steady himself as he leapt down the stairs to land over her with a heavy thump, one foot on each side of her shoulders, and squat down. He turned his head to look up at his brother, who was already descending the stairs with an irritated scowl. “What, you didn’t think that looked funny?”

Matthew grabbed her by the ankles, gritting his teeth. “You need to be more respectful to the dead, Alfred.”

Alfred burst into a fit of laughter at the absurdity of what his younger brother had said. Matthew struck the final blow, after all. He was the one who chose her, and he was the one who had whispered something rather nasty into her ear as he slid the blade of the large hunting knife across her throat. ‘Respect’, his ass.

“You’re such a kill-joy, Mattie.” He took his place at her upper body again and hefted her weight into his arms. They carried her up the stairs without incident to lug her into the master bathroom and dump her in the clean claw-foot tub. As Matthew pulled the large blade from his person, Alfred scuttled up close to her head and put his fingers about her lips.

“Oh please, please don’t kill me!” He cried in a high and mocking voice, moving her mouth so off time with the words that it was ridiculous. Matthew rolled his eyes and knelt down before the tub, shaking his head while looking down at her.

Alfred saw the tiny ghost of a smile on his lips and grinned triumphantly. _Made ya smile, I’m off the hook!_ He slid his hands softly over her shoulders, watching the airy fabric of her white blouse bunch at the touch, before he slowly slid down to cup her ample breasts.

Matthew slapped his hands away with a glare. “Darn it Alfred, take this seriously! Why don’t you go dig around in the fridge while I get this done, or even start bagging stuff. Just make yourself useful!”

Alfred smiled warmly, scooting across the floor on his knees until he was pressed up against Matthew’s back. He slipped his arms around as if to embrace him, only to place his hands over the younger man’s flat chest and make squeezing motions. “Why can’t you have fantastic titties like her?”

“If you want breasts, you’re gonna have to look elsewhere. Unless you don’t mind me hideously obese.” His voice was a hushed whisper as he tested the blade’s sharpness on his thumb. Like he needed to, he sharpened the thing obsessively. He reached and began unbuttoning her blouse before Alfred gently took his wrist and pulled it away from her. “What?”

The older brother pushed the wavy locks out of the way before he nuzzled his face in the crook of Matthew’s neck, smiling softly. “I love you, Mattie.”

“Can’t I cut her up first?”

Alfred pouted against the warm flesh, wrapping his arms around Matthew’s waist tightly. “No, I want you thinking about _me_. You can rub one out over her later, I don’t care.”

Matthew groaned, tilting his head to rest against his brother’s. “If we end up having to leave before I get a chance, I’ll skin you instead.”

“Deal.” Alfred ran his hands over the worn red T-shirt his brother wore, the blood that smeared it barely visible against the shade of the fabric, and down to dip just beneath the waist of his loose fitting jeans. His fingers danced over the slight bump of hipbone there as he turned his head to whisper huskily into his ear. “You need to eat more often.”

“And what, get fat like you?”

“I’m not fat!” Alfred grumbled, nipping at the cartilage of Matthew’s ear with his teeth lightly. “I’m healthy.”

“Maybe by 1920’s standards.” He gasped softly when Alfred ran his hand over his clothed erection while he ran his tongue along the edge of his ear.

“Shut up about it, you’re gonna give me a complex or something.” Alfred breathed, rubbing the concealed hardness firmly before swiftly unbuttoning the jeans and pulling the zipper down.

“You look fine the way you are, Alfred.” Matthew murmured, his eyes running up and down the woman lying in the bathtub in interest. She had such soft, smooth skin. He wanted to peel it off so badly it almost hurt.

Finally willing himself to tear his gaze away, he pushed Alfred back and spun around and snatched a fistful of his brother’s hair to yank his head back. He lifted the large knife to his throat and pushed lightly, leaning forward to lick the warm skin of his neck.

Alfred’s body went ridged at the sharp feel of the knife. His breaths came out in quick, shallow puffs and he relished in the fear raging through his veins. He knew that there was no guarantee that his brother would not cut him, he had the scars to prove it. Would he do it? How hard, how deeply? He licked his shaky lips and swallowed thickly, feeling himself grow harder as he imagined the blade slashing through his throat and ending him. The pure terror he felt at the thought was delicious.

Matthew dragged the blade of the knife lightly down Alfred’s neck and over his chest. As it slid over his stomach Matthew let go of his hair to undo his pants with one quick movement. Finally the shining silver weapon stopped, the tip aiming directly for Alfred’s manhood. He kept the knife where it was as he lowered himself to sitting on the floor, stretching his legs out between his brother’s. He looked up at Alfred over his glasses with a shy smile as he reached into his jeans and pulled out his own member, making a little nodding motion toward it as if to say ‘you know what to do’.

Alfred moved a little ways back from the knife before he dropped down onto all fours and ran his tongue over the hot flesh, his eyes never leaving his brother’s face. He pulled his glasses off and set them gently on the chilly black and white tile floor before running his flat tongue from base to tip, then over the sensitive head before swallowing it into the hot cavern of his mouth. The soft purr that floated from Matthew’s throat urged him to put his best efforts into his performance; He closed his lips tightly around the length and created some suction as he bobbed his head up and down, his tongue swirling circles about the sensitive tip with every pass. He knew that his jaw was going to start hurting soon but he pushed on as his right hand snaked around to palm his own still-clothed hardness.

Matthew ran his fingers through Alfred’s soft blond hair, gasping quietly at the feeling of his brother’s most valiant efforts to take him into his throat. It didn't work as well as he would have liked and he gagged a couple of times, but it still felt good. He wondered momentarily how his brother still managed to have a gag reflex, considering all of the garbage food he jammed into his mouth all the time, but the thought quickly departed his mind when Alfred took a moment to lavish extra attention on the tip of his cock. All of the while his mind struggled to turn back to the woman lying there, just begging to have her beautiful skin slipped off like an elegant dinner jacket. He wanted to, needed to, but he knew Alfred would not allow it until he was finished.

Alfred reached into his own jeans to pull out his member and stroked it slowly, his mind filled with thoughts of his little brother, the torrents of blood that had splashed out onto the floor when that woman’s throat had been cut, the satisfyingly squishy crack that rang out when his bat had connected with her ribs, and the fabulous fear that had shown in her eyes when she pleaded for her life between ragged sobs.

Fear, any fear, had always been what had done it for him. Those minute little expressions someone made when the reality of their mortality dawned on them, the rigidity of their frame. The tremulous quake of their lips, the words they vomited up as they begged for their lives without any sense of pride or ego. His own fear of immanent capture, of being put to death. The cascading compilation of terror that climaxed the moment before he beat the life out of them was beyond erotic; it was the rush of falling from a high place, it was the painful slam of one’s heart when caught in a life-or-death lie, it was the high experienced after surviving certain death by the skin of one’s teeth. It was nirvana in its purest form.

He felt Matthew tense and took it as a cue to redouble his efforts, sucking harder as he took him as deeply into his throat as his body would allow. His brother gasped, almost inaudibly, as his hot seed flowed out into Alfred’s mouth to coat his tongue and dribble down his throat. Alfred lifted his head and smiled while he swallowed the bitter liquid. Job well done, and now for himself…

Matthew buttoned his pants and pushed himself back up to his knees, pointing at the door. “Thank you. Now go do something useful, please.”

Alfred’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “What the hell, Mattie! What about me?” Alfred motioned to his own unresolved lust. Matthew had already turned away from him and was busying himself with the woman’s shirt, a look of hardened concentration in his eyes.

“You know it’s less fun when they’re cold, Al! I’ll get you back later or something.”

“You want me to help?” Alfred tucked himself back into his pants and scooted up behind Matthew to peek over his shoulder.

He shook his head, “No, I know you don’t like doing it. Go bag up the valuables, okay?”

Alfred snatched up his glasses and put them in their place on his nose, “Fine, whatever! They’re no fun when they’re all dead and stuff anyway!” He stood and stomped out of the room, slamming the door shut for good measure.

“God damn it Mattie, you asshole," He grumbled quietly to himself as he walked down the stairs, careful to not slip and go tumbling to his death on the smatterings of blood that decorated the wooden steps like little vengeful landmines. ‘How dare you kill our vessel?!’ They seemed to scream up at him through the darkness of the quiet house.

“How dare your stupid body steal my brother?” He snapped at the large pool of blood before the stairs, poking it with the toe of his sneaker as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. He let out a long, drawn-out sigh. There was no use getting angry, Matthew had always been like that. Skinning people really was his thing, always had been. Alfred just could not find the fun in it, but what could be done?

He sighed again as he walked to the fantastically modern fireplace to retrieve their video camera. There was a lot of money to be made in the videos they normally shot, so there was no way he would forgive himself (or Matthew would let him live it down, for that matter) if he forgot it. Sadly, there was no money to be made off this particular little excursion, since Alfred had forgotten to charge the camera the night before.

After he was sure that the less-than helpful camera was in their duffle bag where it belonged, he went about stuffing the woman’s valuables in a large sack. Some fancy decorative eggs, silver cutlery, two videogame systems. A pile of money that was closed inside of a music box went into his pocket with a muffled little crinkle. Well Matthew could just take that! Let him worry about selling the stuff, Alfred was taking the cash.

While Alfred busied himself packing away anything portable and worth stealing, Matthew had finally managed to strip the woman naked. Disrobing an unresponsive person was more work than one would think, and even after having done it more times than he could count he still found it surprising that it was so difficult. His violet eyes traveled the length of her body and he had to admit that Alfred was right, she had a fantastic form. Matthew let his fingertips lightly ghost along the soft skin of her pale and lukewarm cheek before trailing his touch down her neck and across the gentle slope of one perfect breast. His voice slipped out like a gentle gust of wind, “So smooth.”

His fingers danced across her nipple. It was still erect from the adrenaline that had been coursing through her body just before she died. It was a soft pink color, plump and beautiful. He leaned over the lip of the bathtub to poke his tongue out and tentatively lap at the swollen bud. Matthew looked at her slack face for a moment, as if expecting her to awaken and go into a fit of rage, before he ran his tongue in a circle around her nipple slowly then sucked it into his mouth. He let his right hand cup the side of her breast, relishing in how soft and smooth it was. Matthew pulled away from her with an audible ‘pop’ and let his hand explore further, across her flat stomach and down to tap lightly against her smoothly shaven mound. That was good, hair had always been unattractive to him. It sullied the smooth, soft beauty that was the flesh.

His middle finger slipped down her slit, moist with the post-death urine that had escaped from her at some point when Alfred had been so adamant about distracting him. He sighed in relief; apparently she had not eaten anything solid in some time. Death had a way of being disgusting, but it was something he had come to deal with.

Matthew wriggled a finger into her and noted that it was slick with her juices. What had she been doing before they had shone up? As he probed about inside of her he took up his knife with his left hand and placed the point at the top of her sternum, just between her clavicle. With a slight application of pressure he dragged the sharp weapon down her chest slowly, staring in interest as the dark blood slowly oozed from the growing wound. He cut all the way down, stopping just above her pelvic bone, and extracted his finger from her cooling tightness. He cut another long ‘u’ shaped line from her hip, up across her navel, and down to the opposite side.

Working his large blade like a filet knife, he sliced between her luscious skin and lightly toned muscle, separating them like the peel off of an orange. The lines of muscle, pinkish-white of bloodied cartilage, the mashed and bruised right vertebrosternal ribs where Alfred’s bat had connected; these things shyly presented themselves before him like blushing brides. Beautiful, untouched, nearly unattainable. He felt a stirring in his jeans as he yanked the flesh back to expose the globular yellow and red of breast tissue. The colors danced in his vision like the most beautiful and exotic women, enticing and demanding of lustful attention. He pushed the two large strips of loosened skin aside to take in the beauty of her form as his fingertips slid lazily across her moist musculature. She was perfection with her blue eyes half-lidded and staring, mouth slack, deep gash across her doe-like throat dark and clotted in murky half-dried blood. Her inner build put on display and most sensitive places exposed and without shame.

“You were a good choice.” Matthew breathed, sinking his index finger slowly into her wet and pliable flesh. Sticky blood clung stubbornly to his digit when he pulled it from her, watching quietly as the small indentation he had created remained without any life left in the body to fix the small wound. He lowered himself to sitting on the floor, eyeing the slick fluid that stained his hands with growing excitement. Matthew stayed there a moment before he lifted himself to standing and swiftly undid his jeans.

He pushed her up into a sitting position in the tub before pulling his pants and underwear off and setting them on the clean white toilet seat cover, then climbed in with her to set himself between her smooth thighs. It felt wonderful. He licked his lips slowly, shakily, as he leaned over her to look deeply into her eyes.

“I wanted to know more about you first. I’m sorry, I-” he turned his head away from her and stared at the sloping wall of the bloodied bathtub with cheeks bright pink, “You’re not just a one night stand or anything! I s-swear, I’m not like that.” He used one hand to move her hips into a better position, angling her hole as close to himself as he could in the confines of the tub. He arched his back and ran his tongue over her exposed flesh as he pushed into her with a quiet shudder. She was delicious on his tongue and around his cock, so sweet and tight and beautiful.

The room was silent but for his shaky breaths and slight squeaking of his knee sliding across the bloody porcelain with every thrust. He would probably have to throw his shirt away after this, it was getting horribly stained, but he would worry about that when the time came. The present was what mattered, the slick sensation of her blood-soaked muscles, the look of her skin so expertly separated from her body, those dull eyes endlessly staring, her cooling cunt squeezing his dick so greedily. The sensation, the experience, was absolute bliss. It was perfection in every sense of the word. He felt the tell-tale pressure building and intensified his pace, tiny moans escaping his reddened lips every so often as he hugged her close and squinted his eyes in concentration.

He wanted to know her name.

Matthew came with a small cry, squeezing her hips as he slammed his seed as deeply into her as he could. He pulled from her slowly and chuckled, “It was pretty funny when Al dropped you, but don’t tell him that okay?”

 

* * *

 

“We really need to get a fucking car, man!” Alfred yelled back at his younger brother, turning a corner to rummage through their storage room to retrieve their old and nearly broken fan. The sun had climbed over the horizon some twenty minutes into their long trek home from the secluded house, immediately burning down on them like an enraged tyrant. Once they had entered the city and left the shade of the trees the walk became a stifling and angry affair, filled with insults and a few blows.

Matthew dropped the heavy sack of stolen treasures onto the floor as he kicked his leg back to slam the front door shut. “And who’s fault is it that we can’t afford it? Yours!” He called after him weakly, referring to the loss of Alfred’s eighth job in a row.

Flipping burgers at Wendy’s under the alias ‘Robert Galpherson’, someone made a rude comment in relation to Matthew’s sexuality, Alfred got mad. End of story. End of gruesome, bloody story. The kind of story where Alfred slams the guy’s head flat onto the fryer and grins down at him crazily. Where he says something like:

“Excuse me? I’m not sure if I heard you right~!” As he pushes the slightly older man’s face harder against the searing heat, licking his lips at the stench of frying flesh and the music of crackling skin. That’s the kind of story that is definitely over; no way anyone would dwell over something like that, right? Right.

Alfred set the fan in the living room, which consisted of an old and broken futon in perpetual sofa-mode, a tiny cheap TV decorated by a twisted pair of wire bunny ears, and a pile of rubbish about covering every inch of dirty blue carpeting. He flipped it to high before he peeled his wet shirt from his body with a disgusted grimace. Alfred flung it to the floor off to his right and began to wonder if they had gone Twinkie shopping lately, so he kicked off his shoes as he hurried to the kitchen to scout for the moist little cakes of filling heaven. The walls were riddled with holes and graffiti, Alfred was sure that a pack of drug-addicted squatters had inhabited the condemned house before them.

He could hear his younger brother rummaging around in the bag as he pulled the refrigerator door open and looked around. Three eggs, a quarter cup of milk sloshing pathetically in the bottom of the plastic carton and half of a block of mummified cheese. He slammed the door shut and checked the freezer to find it devoid of even ice. Bare cupboards added to his growing sense of woe, mocking him with their demonic emptiness. Alfred shuffled to peek from the doorway at his brother. “Let’s go sell that new vid so we can run to Wal-Mart and pick up some chow.”

“We have food. Help me clean up.” Matthew was walking across the room with an armful of dirty laundry, intent on depositing them in the hamper.

“Bullshit we have food! I just looked, it’s totally bare! And would you quit with that cleaning shit?” He followed behind Matthew as he spoke, “You always do that after we get someone, what the hell is that shit about?”

“I do not, and kindly shut up. Help me find Kumaroji, he’s lost somewhere in this pigsty.” Matthew dug around here and there in the mess, taking care to step over sharp objects and old food that his brother had left lying around. He was searching for the plush polar bear he had bought of his favorite cartoon character. Alfred had always wondered how he could claim the animal to be his favorite anything when he could not even remember KUMAJIROU’s name from one moment to the next.

“Forget about it, we’ll find him when we get home! C’mon dude, I’m starving here.” He tugged feebly on Matthew’s shirt, trying to interest him in the front door and the promise of food. After a few moments to think about it, Matthew sighed heavily and nodded his head in agreement. His stomach was growling dangerously, so it seemed his beloved bear would need to wait. He went to a randomly placed mini-dresser in the corner of the room and pulled a DVD from the top drawer. He hurried out into the beating sun after Alfred, calling for him to wait.

Their destination was a small sex shop some six blocks away, with windows that were spray-painted black and bars lining every opening. Not the classiest establishment, but one of extreme rarity. They stepped inside and were greeted both by the tinkling silver bell above the door and a rather intimidating man of German descent manning the counter.

Alfred’s shoulder bumped a tall man in a black T-shirt and baggy dark jeans. Violet flashed in the sterile light as an apology was uttered in a voice that was soft and innocent. Alfred nodded in acknowledgement and turned to grin at the shop owner, Ludwig.

“Luddy, what’s up!” He belted out loudly, bouncing a little and waving.

“Alfred.” The hailing was a clipped, almost commanding bark that issued from his lips without the slightest change of expression. He took up a rag and began to dust the counter for the umpteenth time that day, “Matthew.”

“Good morning, Ludwig.” He smiled warmly as he walked up to the counter.

The tall stranger stood in the doorway, his legs frozen in place. His hand gripped the brown paper bag he held tightly, he knew those voices. It was them, it was actually them!

The ‘Skin Brothers’, as the reporters chose to dub them. He thought the name sounded hackneyed, but it had stuck. He swallowed thickly and rushed from the shop, his mind reeling. Had it really been them? The infamous Skin Brothers, wanted on seemingly endless counts of murder. The same siblings that had murdered their own father at the ages of fourteen and thirteen and had been on the run ever since? The police knew who they were, but no one knew what they looked like. The last pictures they had left behind were of them as young boys, standing together in a sunny meadow, dirtied and grinning with the purity of youth. He weighed the chances as he rounded the corner and came upon his apartment building. It was old and weathered, its foundation sagging and paint peeling away. It was ugly, but it was home.

He all but ran up the three flights of stairs to his apartment, a tiny one room ordeal with sub-par heating and cooling. Thick black construction paper was plastered heavily over the windows and blocked all sunlight from entering the sweltering space. The walls were papered in pictures of corpses that he had found on the internet. His bed, an old mattress strewn haphazardly on the floor, was layered in books about murders, murderers, and freak accidents. Psychology books, more printouts of grisly scenes, and detailed anatomical drawings dotted the pile here and there. The only light in the room was cast by the flashing 12:00 of his microwave’s clock and the soft glow of his computer monitor. He tossed himself before it and threw in the DVD, almost giddy to watch it. It was $250.00 well spent.

As the story unfolded on the screen before wide eyes and the screams grew louder, the excitement higher, and the colors progressively redder, a soft smile crossed his lips. His fingers lifted unhurriedly to touch the cool screen and glide slowly down, and his words came out as inflected air. “How beautiful.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Fuck you, Mattie.” Alfred’s voice was a distracted mumble as he struggled with a Rubix cube and followed behind his brother. The sun was on its last leg of life for the day and they had decided nearly forty minutes ago to visit their good friend and _companero_ , a mister Arthur of Rich Family X. He was the owner of a rather fabulous and “hipsterishly underground” (as Alfred so eloquently put it) chain of dance clubs. He was a fantastically talented guitarist and lyricist. He was the lowest garbage-can junky that side of Manhattan Alfred and Arthur had met some three years ago in a filthy back ally across the street from one of New York’s many hospitals. True to the clichéd nature of the world, it had to be raining. Arthur was lying limply over a few bags of garbage, his green eyes staring straight up into the battering droplets.

Alfred had stopped, eyed him closely, poked him in the head with the end of his bat a few times before he gave up on a response. He lifted the wooden bludgeon with the intention of slamming the life out of the sedated man before Arthur had come together enough to articulate a sentence.

“Who the bloody hell are you, ya dirty fucking wanker?” Pure irritation danced in his clear emerald eyes as he furrowed his thick brow and sat up groggily. He swayed back and forth dangerously as he spoke, seeing double of the hazy blob that was supposed to represent Alfred. “Well if you don’t need anything, how about you kindly piss off!” He yelled in his general direction, sniffing. He had on a worn pair of Converse sneakers and form-fitting plaid pants that were held on by a multitude of studded belts. Alluringly tight black white-beater pulled over his petite form, a mess of black and red bracelets adorning his wrists and, of course, his ever-present ‘Anarchy’ symbol necklace was firmly in place. When he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and placed one to his lips, Alfred noticed that his nails were painted a mixture of black and green.

He flicked the old lighter again and again, grumbling loudly at its failure to catch. When Alfred offered him his own lighter, Arthur had just grunted and used it before retuning it with a mumbled, “Thank you.” The tips of his blonde hair were died green and seemed to glow in the darkness when Arthur inhaled the smoke deeply, the cherry of his cigarette appeared to be bright enough to light the entire alleyway, or so it felt like at the time. He had growled low with his head hanging limply to one side before blowing twin tails of smoke from his nostrils with an annoyed glare in Alfred’s direction.

“What?”

“I was gonna kill you, but now I’m not sure if I want to.” He tapped the bat lightly on his calf, watching Arthur nestle himself into the sopping garbage bags in an attempt to find extra comfort. He waited a moment, waiting to decide whether or not the man would die based on his response.

Arthur had thought it over for what seemed to them both like decades before he took another long drag of his cigarette and lifted his finger to flip Alfred the bird with a hoarse smoke-belching laugh. “Piss off, ya lily-livered twat.” He dug in another pocket for a moment to retrieve a small red plastic flask filled with liquor and suck down about half of it in one strong gulp. Alfred had laughed, loudly and so full of joviality that soon Arthur found himself laughing right along with him while being totally unable to fathom why. They had been friends ever since.

In the present, Matthew stuck his tongue out childishly at his brother, walking backwards in front of him with Kumajirou held firmly in his arms. Another crack about Alfred’s steadily climbing scale numbers, followed up with a stab at his intelligence. People thought Matthew was this nice, quiet, and polite guy. Alfred’s pained ego said otherwise, but he knew better than to stress the point. Matthew was in a rather sunny mood that day; he awoke at the early hour of eight in the morning to pack their home’s mountain of litter into trash bags and store them in a relatively unused closet to await garbage day, vacuumed, and did dishes before he set about cooking a hearty breakfast at around 10:00am. Alfred had awoken to a hot plate of bacon, eggs, toast, and an orange. Matthew set a mug of coffee on the floor beside their bed before wandering away to continue his cleaning. He had indulged Alfred in some rather satisfying sex on the bathroom floor, mowed the lawn, and cleaned the windows. They burned through three games of rummy and an alien invasion film before he declared that they should see their good friend Arthur.

“Alfred, please listen when people are talking to you.” His brother was saying, walking beside him with a small scowl on his lips.

Alfred laughed awkwardly and shrugged, burying his hands into his pockets. “Sorry man, I’ve been having weird flashback montages or something.” Matthew raised an eyebrow but said nothing, letting his fingers stroke softly through the fur of his stuffed bear’s stomach. If Alfred did not know better he would have wondered if the thing had gained some weight, it was just so fat. He looked ahead and on the horizon saw the brightly-lit body of Arthur’s club, Playground. Alfred had always thought the name sounded a little fruity but he made no mention of it around the self-proclaimed ‘gentleman.’

The bouncer knew them as VIPs so he waved them through ahead of the long line of fabulously dressed people that littered the sidewalk. The music was loud and thickly laden in bass, the beats gave the sensation that they would rattle one apart if given half the chance, and bright colorful lights shot over the twisting, undulating crowd. Alfred took Matthew by the hand and went about all but dragging him through the tightly-packed dancers and toward Arthur’s office, which lied off of the right wall on the second floor. Matthew yelped out tiny apologies left and right as he was pulled through the full crowd, his face turning pinker with each unsure step.

By the time they had barged into Arthur’s office, Matthew was about ready to fall into a panic attack. Alfred threw the door open with a bellowed “Whassap?!” hand held high in some strange kind of salute. Arthur glared at him for a moment before dipping his head down to indulge in a long line of coke, his plush brown desk chair squeaking softly as he moved his nose slowly over the enticing powder. He flopped lazily in his seat and tilted his head back while sniffing loudly, then rubbed his sore nose and cracked a strained grin before slapping his hand down onto the desk with unnecessary force.

Matthew jumped at the startling sound as he pushed the door shut. Arthur rubbed his nose with the back of his index finger and sat back in his chair haughtily, resting one foot on the edge of the solid oak desk as he regarded his guests. “You Yanks must think I’m daft.” His voice cut through the quiet of the room like a knife.

“How so?” Matthew asked, taking a seat beside his brother before the desk and rearranging Kumajirou on his lap.

“Matthew, dear lad, do you know what day it is?”

“Tuesday.”

“Fucking Tuesday!” Arthur snapped with a hard glare, “I told you your fee was due on Wednesday!”

“Yeah, and it’s Tuesday, Arthur. We’re early this time.” His gaze never left the smooth buttons that were his bear’s eyes as he spoke in the hushed whisper that was his voice. His smile was light and unbothered by his older friend’s outburst.

“Wait… Wait, Tuesday? It’s only fucking Tuesday? I thought it was Friday.” Arthur grumbled, scratching his chin with a finger.

“You wanna come over, we just got this sweet new PS3 and all these games and shit!” Alfred asked excitedly, rearranging himself in the seat with a beaming grin. Arthur cast him a hard glare before he nodded.

“Just let me call Larry and tell him I’m going out.” He pulled his office phone from its base and dialed in the extension for his assistant manager’s office to relay some information and lay out what he wanted completed through the night. Orders made, payrolls sorted, a few less than magical employees canned. When he had finished speaking, he hung up the phone and prepared his things: A high-end backpack probably filled to the brim with pills, powders, and liquids of an illegal and mind-altering sort, a quick change of clothes, and his beloved Fender Stratocaster with its polished frame and burnt umber coloration. He pushed it delicately into its case as if it were made of glass before he motioned for his blonde guests to follow him from the office. He tilted his head and they followed him through a thin group of straggling clubbers to a door marked as the fire exit. He pushed it open and no alarm sounded.

“Well that was easier than pushing through all those people again.” Alfred mused, stepping out into the cool evening air of the alley. He looked at Matthew, caught the end of a relieved sigh, and smiled knowingly. His brother had never been good with socializing, and was especially skittish around large groups. How many days had Matthew been too upset to follow him to school when they were children? How many times had his crippling social phobia dashed any dreams he could have held for a healthy and productive societal life? Alfred could still see Matthew on his first day of kindergarten, standing before the class with Kumajirou hiding most of his face as he tried to introduce himself. A few sputtered whispers and a face that looked to be near bursting into flames were all it took for Alfred to come forward and do it for him before pulling the boy to the back of the class to sit beside him.

It actually came as a shock that Matthew could finally tolerate Arthur’s presence.

“Let’s stop at the gas station and pick up some sodas. Plus, I gotta get the latest _New Yorker_ and see how awesome our headline is.” Alfred looked up and down the alley as he spoke, trying to get his bearings. He was not normally one to go stalking down alleyways at night, so he had no real applicable knowledge of the hidden veins that ran all throughout the Bronx.

“You’ve been here four years now and you still don’t know your way about?” Arthur sighed with a scowl, shaking his head and extending his hand to catch hold of Alfred’s. “Follow me, I go this way after work a lot.”

“So you live around here?” Matthew inquired quietly from his place leaning against an old dumpster.

“As if I’m going to tell you mad bastards where I live. Now come on, let’s go before we sprout roots or something.” His fingers squeezed just slightly around Alfred’s hand before he began walking brusquely down the alley, dragging him along behind. Matthew let out a little squeak at being left behind and started jogging behind them, his arms tight around Kumajirou’s stuffed belly as if he feared the little bear would hop down and go sprinting away.

Alfred looked down at his hand, clasped in Arthur’s warm and expensively adorned fingers, then back at Matthew. His brother was shuffling along just behind them, taking in the less than beautiful scenery of overflowing garbage cans and graffiti-laden walls with his usual worried-looking smile playing across his features.

 _Well this is all wrong,_ he thought with a small frown.

They had arrived at a 7-Eleven within ten minutes. Matthew peeked through the window to see something like five people perusing about inside before his face turned bright red and he announced that he would wait outside for them. Alfred tried to reassure him that all was well since it was just a convenience store but Matthew refused, his curls bouncing charmingly as he shook his head, a vigorous ‘no.’ Alfred just shrugged and followed Arthur inside, promising to only take a moment.

He rushed over to the newspaper stand and ruffled through the different publications before he found his paper of choice, _The New Yorker_. His eyes widened at the headline and he stood there a moment, struck dumb at the unexpected words.

Arthur was up at the counter purchasing another pack of Marlboro Reds when Alfred yelled at him loudly to join him at the other end of the store. Arthur rolled his eyes and slapped down the cash for his cigarettes, ordered the cashier to keep the change, and sauntered over to his distraught friend. “Don’t be so loud, we’re in public.”

“Yeah, whatever, _dad_. Shut up and take a look at this!” He pushed the paper into Arthur’s face suddenly, earning an unintelligible sputter of what was probably supposed to be a concoction of rude vocabulary for his troubles.

“You stupid twat, don’t go just shoving things into other people’s faces willy-nilly!” Even as he was yelling, Arthur pulled the paper down to a reasonable length and began to skim the front page.

“Well would you look at that.”

“’Well would you look at that’ nothing! This is really serious, dude!” Alfred snatched the paper away and marched toward the counter to purchase it, and on the way took up a few Twinkies, a bottle of Pepsi, and a few packs of chewing gum. He slapped his items down onto the counter and began digging through his wallet for the proper bills.

“If it’s so serious let me do it!” The older Englishman snapped, pulling his platinum credit card from his back pocket and offering it to the cashier. Alfred lifted his face from his wallet and beamed.

“Thanks, Arty.”

His face flashing bright pink, Arthur snapped his gaze to the floor with a scowl, “I’m just in a hurry, is all! I don’t want to stand around all day and watch you snail your way through your stupid fat wallet. A-and call me ‘Arty’ again and I’ll strangle you.” He all but snatched the pen and receipt from the bored Mexican-American cashier and scribbled his name on the line with a flourish. He cast Alfred a hard glare with his cheeks still burning before he spun around and stormed from the establishment in a cloud of curses.

Alfred just shrugged and took his bag of items from the worker’s cold hands before heading outside to show Matthew the newspaper. Arthur was leaning against the brick of the building, cursing quietly as he slammed through one of his fresh cigarettes like he was competing in a smoke-off. Matthew was sitting next to him with his knees pulled up toward his chest and his beloved bear sitting at his side, tapping his toes softly on the dirty concrete ground. Alfred thought it was cute how his toes had always seemed to point toward one another, even up into the age of twenty-two.

“Mattie, you gotta see this.” He said, walking over to squat beside him and dig in his bag. He pulled the soon-to-be obsolete information source out and handed it to his brother and scooted a little closer.

Matthew took the newspaper and looked it over with an eyebrow raised. “Another killer… different MO… dead in his apartment…” He turned to look Alfred in the eye, “So what? We’re not the first serial killers and we won’t be the last, Al. Who cares? Look,” He ruffled through the pages a bit before he found what he was looking for and opened it for his brother to see, “We got an article. ‘Notorious Skin Brothers strike again, blah blah blah’.”

“It’s not the same!” Alfred grumbled, standing. “How am I supposed to put this crappy little article in my scrapbook?” He slapped the half-page spread their latest crime had earned them to emphasize his point.

“Only idiots keep crap like that lying around in their house, anyway. Even bigger idiots stand around and tell the whole bloody world about their hobbies!” Arthur snapped back at Alfred, bursts of smoke accentuating every word. He dropped his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out as he stuffed his thumbs into the loops of his dark jeans. He let out an exaggerated sigh and shrugged.

“Someone might hear you and turn you in, and you know… It’d be kind of boring without you guys around.”

Matthew snickered softly, pushing himself up from the hard ground with the tenacity afforded only by youth, “It’s good to know you care.”

Alfred stared at Arthur for a moment before he sputtered into fits of laughter. “Holy shit Arty, that wasn’t cool at all! That kind of ‘touchy-feely’ attitude doesn’t look good on you, dude!” Arthur’s cheeks began to burn with a blush at his friend’s mocking laughter and he gritted his teeth with embarrassed rage.

“Whatever you stupid git, let’s just go to your place already before you give me an ulcer!” Arthur yelled over his shoulder as he walked to stand by the street and hail a taxi.

“You need to be nicer to Arthur, he’s a good friend to us.” Matthew said as he passed his brother to hurry toward the waiting transportation. Alfred walked quickly to catch up with him, stopping him as he was half-way into the yellow car.

“How do you mean? He’s a dick.”

Matthew ducked his head and Alfred only saw his lips stretch into a devious little grin. “Free cab ride, free dinner tonight.”

 

* * *

 

“I paid off the cab and bought the bloody pizza; you can at least get off of your lazy fat arse and get the damn door!” Arthur grumbled loudly as he pulled himself from his place on the ratty old bean bag chair to get their dinner.

“Thanks Arty, you’re the best!” Alfred laid on his living room floor on his stomach, face painfully close to the television. He tapped the controller in his hands impatiently before he pushed the ‘start’ button and continued the now rather one-sided battle. He crept around a corner and shot Arthur’s avatar in the head, gaining himself a mess of points.

“God damn it, Alfred, you cheating prick!” Arthur growled, dropping the greasy box down onto an empty cardboard olive box that was set up in the living room as a kind of ‘poor people’ dinner table. He jumped over Matthew, who was lying on the floor on his back and reading a book, to shove Alfred over and snatch up his own controller. “I’ll still wax the floor with you, cheating be damned!”

Matthew tucked his bookmark between the pages and set the novel aside before rolling himself from the floor to crawl on his hands and knees to the pizza box. It smelled fabulous as he pulled the top open to peek inside. He saw the greasy little circles of meat and smiled happily, he had always had a weakness for pepperoni. A hand on his rear end made him jump harshly. He swung his head around to glare daggers at his brother, “We have company.”

“Oh Arty doesn’t care, he already knows we’re an item.” He called out loudly, turning to smile at the man sitting cross-legged on the beanbag chair.

Arthur’s eyes caught Alfred’s for only a second and something akin to sadness slipped over his features before he let out a loud “huff” and glowered. He turned to fish around in his bag for a moment and pull out a little bottle of pills. “Piss off, I don’t give a rat’s ass what you do.”

“See?”

“Alfred, go be stupid somewhere else, please?” Matthew deadpanned, sitting back on his butt and taking a bite of his pizza.

“I’m not stupid!” Alfred grumbled, snatching his brother’s slice from his hand and jamming it into his own mouth.

Matthew huffed at his lost food and reached out to grab another. “Atmospheres and reading and what-not, learn them. Hey, news is coming on in a couple of minutes.” He tilted the face of his watch up for Alfred to see. His older brother gasped in disbelief and tore himself from the floor to hurry to a closet and rummage around until he came up with an empty VHS.

“Why not just get the DVD burner?” Matthew had asked him the year before in the middle of a Wal-Mart. Of course, the only way Alfred had managed to tempt him inside was to visit at around four AM when it was all but deserted.

Alfred had readjusted his glasses and they shined with the sterile florescent lights. “Well if the cops find our stash—”

“Your stash.”

“My stash, whatever, they’ll be like everyone else and only own a DVD player! Or Bluray, whatever. Anyway, they’ll need to take time to find a VHS player and we can use the confusion to escape!”

Matthew had thought of about a thousand issues with his brother’s logic _Of course the police would have a VHS player! If we get caught by the cops we’ll be dead before you get a chance to try this stupid plan. You’ll just get us tazed or something!_ before he just shrugged with a defeated smile, “I guess you’re right.”

Matthew chuckled at the memory as his older sibling ran to the TV and threw the cassette into the outdated box and poked the ‘record’ button before he switched the input from ‘Playstation’ to ‘cable’. The NBC opening reel had just ended and a rather pretty young lady with long, dark hair was shown at her usual place off to the side of the screen.

“Our top story today,” She said in a no-nonsense tone with a sharp tap of her paperwork, “Is there another killer terrorizing our fair city? Police speculate on the chances of the infamous ‘Skin Brothers’ changing their ‘MO’, or ‘modus operandi.’ While police declined to discuss any details on this new and grisly murder, our sources have claimed that talk of an all-new killer has been burning through police stations like wildfire.

“Over to Mr. Riddelstein, our channel four on-site reporter.” A small box appeared in the upper left-hand corner showing a man standing outside of an old apartment building with a microphone in hand.

“Thank you, Marlene.” The box grew to encompass the entire screen. “Twenty-three year old Antonio Fernandez Carriedo was found dead in his apartment sometime last night. The crime scene is not open to the press but sources have confirmed that he had been severely beaten with an unidentified blunt object and evidence points toward a sexual assault.

“Although the brutality of the attack is reminiscent of the Skin Brother’s three-year criminal career in New York alone, the method of killing is entirely different. It is also being said that something was written on the wall near the victim but there is no word as of yet to what it had said.”

“What the hell is this shit?!” Alfred yelled, shaking the television angrily, “What about us? Where the hell is our ‘on-site reporter?!’

“What does it matter? This is good, means the heat’s off of us for a while.” Matthew pointed out through a mouth full of cheese and crust.

The soft sound of Arthur lazily plucking out a tune on his guitar floated through the air to mesh with the reporters on screen. Alfred slapped the side of the TV to punctuate each word. “He’s. Stealing. My. Thunder!”

“Thunder?” Arthur muttered through a drug-induced haze and giggled quietly, bringing up the tempo of whatever song he was playing.

“You know what I mean! Mattie, listen to me.” He sat on his bum and crossed his legs, leaning forward to accentuate his point with his hands, “If this guy takes over, where will that leave us? Nobodies!”

Matthew raised an eyebrow as he pondered over the grammatical integrity of using the word ‘where’ rather than ‘who’ before he motioned for Alfred to continue with his hand, wiping the other on the leg of his jeans.

“Do you want everyone to forget who you are just because of some territory stealing bastard? At this rate we won’t even get a god damned HBO special when we’re dead!” He let his words settle for a moment, allowing them to sink in before he continued.

“You know what people will start saying when you’re doing your little ‘guess who we are’ routine? You’ll be like ‘we’re The Skin Brothers, bwah!’” He made an exaggerated ‘boo’ face which earned him a shoe thrown at his head. It flashed by and slammed heavily into the far wall. “And they’ll be all ‘dohoho, who?’ Is that what you want, bro?”

Matthew lay down on the hard floor and thought for a moment with his head resting on his arms. “Well, no…”

“Why?”

“It’d be less fun.”

“It would be less fun!” Alfred nodded his head vigorously as he reinforced his brother’s thoughts. “So what should we do about this…?”

Violet eyes flitted up to look into blue. “What?”

“We’re gonna find that guy and let him know who’s turf he’s dicking around on!”

“That’s the most idiotic thing I’ve heard all day.” Arthur’s voice was a low hum in the back of his throat, the buzzing preparation to begin adding lyrics to the song he was throwing together. He tilted his head to look from one brother to the other and rolled his eyes. “How the bloody hell do you expect to find this guy? Magic?”

“We’re not giant occult dweebs like you, Arty.” Alfred huffed, “And we’re gonna do it through superior detective work. ‘Takes a killer to catch a killer,’ am I right?”

“You stole that from a damn movie.”

“Doesn’t matter! Before we start looking for this dude, Mattie, we need to send out a message to this city! It needs to say something like ‘How dare you take us lightly?’ you know?”

“If you say anything about writing a letter or something I’ll—”

“We need to go just fuck some people up!”

Matthew rolled over with a little puff of air as he reached out to take Kumajirou into his arms and squeeze. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh, c’mon!” Alfred whined, hurrying over to his brother to shake his shoulder softly.

“I’ve got a headache.”

“Just one…”

“I’m tired.”

Alfred leaned over him to stare pleadingly into his eyes, “Just this once?”

He groaned loudly and pushed Alfred aside to sit up, “Fine, when?”

“Tonight, catch them off guard. We usually go through a couple a month, right? If we get another so quickly it’ll shake their shit up!” He turned to look at Arthur, who was singing softly about a tree. Probably, Alfred could never really understand what he was talking about when he was mixing his stash. “Yo Arty, you wanna come?”

“No thanks.” He sang the words along with the tune he was playing. “I’ve got better things to do than tag along with a couple psychos on some hideous killing-spree. It’s no place for a gentleman.”

 

* * *

 

Even without him, Arthur’s club was hopping and at its peak of excitement for the night. Heavy beats pounded through the packed building, the noise drowning the sounds of clapping hands and raised voices. Alfred slid up to the beautifully sculpted bar and ordered a beer to sip while he scoped the room for a worthy candidate. It was a woman the last maybe three times, so he decided to keep an eye out for any men who might catch his brother’s rather picky fancy. That was when his gaze landed on a pair of brown-haired men sitting together on the other side of the bar. They were so similar that Alfred had to assume that they were brothers, or maybe even twins. He stood and approached them with a confident smile, nodding to them as he took a seat next to one of them.

“Ciao.” The man he was sitting beside said with a pleasant smile. His brother (twin?) leaned forward to cast a glare Alfred’s way and give him a critical once-over.

“Who the hell are you, bastard?”

“Nice to meet you guys, name’s Chris.” Alfred said charmingly, setting his beer down.

“Feliciano.”

“Lovino.”

Feliciano took a sip from his glass of Frangelico and smiled warmly. “It’s nice to meet you, Chris. Are you here by yourself?”

“Yeah, just on the look-out for some new people to talk to.” He took a small sip from his beer.

“So you’re a friendless loser, huh?” Lovino mumbled into his own glass of Cynar.

Alfred laughed loudly, mentally deciding that his brother could deal with the rude one. “I guess you could say that.” He leaned toward Feliciano and winked. “So what are you guys here for?”

The kinder sibling chucked nervously at the man’s closeness and turned his eyes to stare at the sweating glass in his hand like it was the most interesting thing he had ever seen, “Well we were gonna go home soon since Lovino’s getting bored, but we could stay.”

“Like hell we’re gonna stay, I’m sick of all this noise.”

Feliciano smiled at his brother, then turned to lean in and whisper-yell past the music into Alfred’s ear, “Please don’t mind him, he’s usually not this rude… Well actually he is, but he’s really nice in there somewhere. He’s upset because his friend from work stopped taking his calls yesterday. I told him getting out of the house might get his mind off of it, but I don’t think it’s working.”

Alfred nodded knowingly and noted that Feliciano’s scent was reminiscent to that of ocean water and wine. “Then I think we should leave and go find something else to do. Besides, my brother’s supposed to be coming soon so there won’t be any third wheels.”

Feliciano smiled with the pinkish tinge of a blush dusting his cheeks as he spun around to whisper excitedly to his brother. Lovino was clearly less than thrilled to go gallivanting off into the night with some stranger with a winning smile and B-movie producer charms, but after a few long-winded pleas from his sibling he reluctantly nodded. The more bubbly of the two spun around in his seat to face Alfred. “So, where are we going?”

Alfred’s eyes lit up as he leaned closer and waved for Lovino to move in as well. Once the three men were properly huddled he spoke, “Catch this, dudes; Badass party my brother and I are throwing with THE Arthur Kirkland!”

“That owns this place?” Lovino asked, his voice oozing skepticism.

“The very same. Now,” He looked around himself as if to see if anyone was eavesdropping, “I don’t have much space at my place with all Arthur’s band shit set up, but I was thinking that I could squeeze guys as cool as yourselves in without much issue.” He looked back and forth between them, his gaze meeting their eyes in a show of solemn truthfulness.

“What do you say?”

“Yes!”

“No fucking way!”

The brothers frowned and looked at one another. Lovino spoke first, shooting a thousand dirty glares Alfred’s way, “Are you seriously buying this shit? You think this guy’s friends with Arthur god damned Kirkland?” Feliciano shook his head ‘yes’ and his brother growled in frustration.

“That Kirkland guy’s a fucking millionaire, you idiot! Why would he hang around with this guy?!”

Feliciano turned his eyes away and frowned deeply. “You’re just scared.”

“S-scared?! Fuck you, you dumb bastard, I’m not scared!” Lovino’s eyes shot up to glare holes through Alfred’s blue Nordstrom’s shirt. “Fine, we’ll come with you guys.”

He raised his eyebrows at Feliciano as if to say, “I told ya I ain’t scared.” as he tossed back the last of his drink and pulled himself up to stand. Alfred bought them a couple more extra-strong drinks, ‘for the road’ he had said, before he led the pair from the crowded space and into the heady summer night’s air. Matthew hopped up from the curb with an accusatory look on his face as he rushed over to Alfred and yanked him aside.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting out here?!” He hissed through clenched teeth, fisting a handful of Alfred’s shirt and yanking him closer.

“Chill, little bro,” he chuckled as he untangled himself from his sibling’s iron grip, “I told you to come in with me. Besides…” He nodded over to the quarreling twins with a sly smirk.

“Two of them?” Matthew asked quietly and Alfred nodded. His eyes narrowed with a kind of glee. “One for each….”

“Exactly.” The older man straightened out the rumples in his shirt before he hailed the brother-twins for introductions. “Feliciano, Lovino, this is my little brother Bob.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Matthew whispered with a shy smile, extending his slightly shaking hand weakly. He shot Alfred a glare at his name choice then turned back to smile once again, “Call me Robert.”

“Or just Bert!” Alfred chimed in, earning himself another scowl.

“It’s nice to meet you, Robert!” Feliciano said happily, giving Matthew’s hand a few good pumps before releasing him.

“Yo.” Lovino grumbled, lifting a hand in greeting.

“Well, let’s get going you guys!” Alfred said, beckoning them to follow him down the road. Matthew pulled his duffle bag tighter around his shoulder before he hurried up to Alfred’s side.

“What am I supposed to be calling you?” He asked quietly, making a show of scrunching his face into a cutely angry expression and jabbing at his watch for the men behind them. It was a trick perfected through the years and it almost never failed them, regardless as to what their excuse was for luring people out into the city with them. It made them think that the only reason he was speaking outside of their earshot was to chastise his brother on some time-line related business rather than asking for the specs on prospective victims.

Alfred threw up his hands in a display of exasperation as he spoke, “Chris, and they think we’re going to a super exclusive party with Arthur.”

Matthew’s jaw dropped in disbelief, “You actually used that one? And they actually fell for it?!”

“They were pretty sloshed when I got in there so I just went with it, ya know? And I told you all of my ideas aren’t stupid. Watch out for the pissed off one, he’s a little sharper than his brother.”

“Twins?”

“Not sure, why?”

“I’ve always wanted to do twins.”

Alfred just rolled his eyes and spun around to address the men tailing along behind them, “It isn’t too far, if you don’t mind a short walk.”

“Can’t we take a taxi?” Feliciano asked lazily, pulling a little white handkerchief from his pocket and toying with it.

“It’s not that far.” Alfred assured him, spinning back around and slowing his steps to fall back near the men. “This shit is pretty epic, it’s all set up in this old apartment building that no one uses anymore—”

“I thought you said it was at your house?” Lovino probed, raising an eyebrow.

“…What?” Alfred was caught entirely off-guard and his mind flew into overtime to come up with a way to cover his tracks. Matthew called out softly before he had much time to struggle over it.

“We’re building contractors!” When all eyes turned on him, the blonde’s cheeks began to turn pink and his eyes fell to stare at the ground, “It’s ours through the contract, ya know?”

“Y-yeah, contractors!” Alfred laughed weakly, inwardly kicking himself for the potentially fatal slip-up. “Hey, it’s right around here.” He hurried off down the sidewalk to turn a corner and come upon an old and boarded building. He pulled the door open and all four of the men stepped inside the quiet structure before he quietly pushed the door shut and slowly locked it, glad that the lock did not creek.

Feliciano looked around himself in interest, eyeing the peeling wallpaper and dusty floors with a small frown. He heard the soft scraping of something across the floor behind him as his brother spoke up from just before him, “Damn quiet for a party, isn’t it?”

Alfred aimed, swung, and grinned at the satisfying ‘crack’ of his bat connecting with the back of the kinder twin’s head as Matthew slid up behind Lovino and poked a tazer to the back of his neck and gave him a sharp shock. They both dropped like stones and Alfred turned to his brother to flash him a thumbs up. Matthew just smiled and nodded before he turned him gaze to the men on the floor. “Which one did you want?”

“You take that one, he’s a dick.” Alfred said with a little tilt of his head toward Lovino, “I’ll take this one since he’ll give me less lip.” He bent at the waist to grab Feliciano’s legs and begin dragging him off down the hallway with some effort.

 

* * *

 

“Lovino…?” The man’s eyes fluttered open slowly, past the incessant buzzing that clouded his mind at the soft summons. He was met by a pair of violet eyes staring through clean glass lenses.

“Are you awake now?” Matthew asked with a small tilt of his head, standing before him with his hands on his knees.

Lovino tried to move, only to realize with a sharp stab of panic that he was shirtless and tightly bound to a rickety old chair by thin, yet strong, brown ropes. His eyes slid over his environment as he struggled to put together where he was and what he was doing. A nearly empty bedroom adorned with only an old and moth-bitten salmon curtain, dirty off-white walls, a dusty old green carpet, and a duffle bag resting on the floor. The only window was shut tight but offered a view of a packed parking lot some four stories below. He noted the small video camera sitting across the room with its little red ‘recording’ light glowing softly in the brightly-lit space, set atop a small stack of random debris.

“Where the fuck is my brother, you bastard?” He growled through clenched teeth, his mind rapidly clearing.

“In another room with my brother. He’s lucky, you know, Alfred never was too terribly… playful with his people.” Matthew replied with a pleasant smile as he lifted himself to his full height to look down at the bound man before him. “Are you twins?”

Lovino spat at Matthew’s feet and fixed him with an enraged glare. “Fuck you, let me go.”

The blonde stepped around the little clear pool to walk to Lovino’s back, his fingertips ghosting along his warm shoulder. “Are you twins? Brothers? Which one of you is older?”

Lovino clamped his mouth shut, denying him any information. Matthew shook his head and slowly pulled his large knife from the waist of his jeans and pressed it to Lovino’s throat. “Tell me.” His lips brushed lightly against the tip of his ear as he spoke, the small puff of breath that accompanied the words blowing the man’s smooth brown hair ever so slightly.

“We’re twins, I'm older!” He yelped, swallowing with thick relief when the blade was retracted from his neck. He body quaked in fear for himself and his brother, but he tried to hide it without much success, his skin breaking out in a thin sheen of sweat. Matthew patted him lightly on the shoulder with a soft “Good boy,” as he made his way around to kneel at the duffle bag and pull it open. He took out a small paring knife and turned to look at Lovino.

He walked closer to him on his knees and pulled the man’s index finger out forward, then slipped the sharp point of the knife up into the bed of his nail. “I’m sure you’re very close. Tell me, where are you from? I love your accent.”

“I-Italy.”

Lovino took in a sharp breath as the blade was pushed between nail and flesh until it reached the root, and cried out miserably when Matthew wrenched it up and ripped his nail from his finger. Blood began to bead at the pinkish wound when he tried feebly to yank his hand away, only to be stopped by the tight binds that held him fast. Matthew took another finger and pulled the nail up, maddeningly slow, basking in the broken mixture of English and Italian curses that Lovino shot his way. “Tell me,” he pushed the knife beneath the man’s ring finger, “what do you do for a living?”

“What the fuck does that matter?!” Lovino roared, still struggling against the bonds as he tried to regain some semblance of composure.

“It’s no fun to play with some nameless, faceless person.” He began removing the pinky nail with incredible precision and speed, “I want to know you as a person. It would be rude otherwise. Now, what do you do for a living?”

“I work for the fucking mafia, you piece of shit.” Lovino spat, heart fluttering wildly and breathing labored. A tiny smile crossed his lips at Matthew’s hesitation at the thumb, “I’m pretty fucking important too, bastard, and when they find out what you—” His words melted into a long and shrill scream when the blonde suddenly broke his index finger without a word.

“God fucking _damn it_ , you son of a bitch! You’re some prick the Martello’s hired, aren’t you? I’ll pay you more, whatever they’re giving you I’ll bump you double!” As he pleaded through sobs Matthew stood and smiled down at him.

“This is the only payment I need, and no I don’t work for any crime syndicates.” He dropped the reddened paring knife to the floor and it landed with a dull thud at his feet. He let his eyes travel over the panting man for a moment before he took up his favorite blade, the hunting knife, and thought a bit more. The muffled yet immediately recognizable sound of gunfire made him look up at the door for a moment and raise an eyebrow.

“Already?” He mused to himself quietly before turning his attention back to Lovino. “What did you want to be when you were a kid?”

“W-what the fuck was that?! Where the hell is Feliciano?!” The Italian demanded, ignoring the question.

“That was a gunshot, and he may already be dead. Now, tell me your childhood hopes and dreams.” He pushed the blade against Lovino’s chest and made a swift series of cuts and slices to create a small and slightly hanging strip of flesh. Lovino hissed loudly when Matthew pinched the soft flap between his thumb and index fingers.

“Tell me…” He began to pull slowly down on the piece and was greeted by a moist yet distinctly tearing sound as the skin ripped. “Your hopes…”

His voice shook slightly as his cheeks tinged pink at Lovino’s loud shrieks. The bound man cried out until he burst into a fit of strangled coughs, his foot stomping the floor in some involuntary unconscious attempt to ease, or at least distract from, the pain. Matthew’s eyes widened and a smirk stretched his lips as he put all of his strength into ripping the strip of skin down as far as it would go, breaking it off down toward the diaphragm. He tossed it over his shoulder and it landed with a moist ‘plop’ on the floor. “And dreams, or this’ll only get worse.”

“I don’t fucking kn-know! I… I wanted to be like my brother!” Lovino managed to choke out past the pain screaming through his body, a cold and sickening sensation building in his stomach with each passing moment. His wounded hand was forgotten past the thick haze of agony that burned on his chest and the fear screaming in the forefront of his mind.

“Like him? Why?” The blonde asked as he set to work preparing another strip across the clavicle. “You two can’t be too far apart, you’re twins. Why not a firefighter or something?”

Lovino just clamped his mouth shut and shook his head ‘no,’ the pain he was suffering starting to fade as his over-stimulated nerves began powering down all across his body. His sensations were so dulled that he managed to only allow a low and whimpering groan past his lips when Matthew began slowly tugging his flesh. Only when the tear split his nipple apart did he let out a long and drawn-out groan before his head flopped forward and his consciousness began to fall away.

Matthew bent at the waist and moved his face in close to Lovino’s and tilted his head, “Hey… Hey, wake up.” He slapped him lightly on the head a few times but to no avail. He spun his knife in his hand and brought it down into the bound man’s thigh with a little ‘pop’ as the point broke the skin and dipped into the yielding flesh like butter. If it was not for his shallow breaths, Matthew would have thought him dead to not react to being stabbed. He pushed a handful of curly blonde from his eyes as he waited for Lovino to awaken. Almost a minute passed and nothing but another muffled gunshot from the other room.

He let out an exasperated sigh, grimacing at the Italian’s refusal to awaken as he turned to rummage about in his bag. When he stood up again he held a syringe full with a clear liquid that he stabbed into the unconscious man’s jugular vein. Almost the moment he depressed the plunger Lovino’s eyes shot open and his breathing became ragged, as if he had sprinted around the block a few times.

He let out a long and exasperated-sounding groan from between clenched teeth before he spoke, “What the fuck did you put in me, bastard?!”

Matthew tucked the needle back where it belonged and smiled pleasantly, “A mix of stuff, mostly adrenaline. It’ll keep you awake and alive longer so I won’t get bored. It’s also said to intensify physical sensation.” As he spoke he positioned himself to the side of Lovino’s head. He took the man’s quivering jaw softly in his fingertips and turned Lovino a ways toward him. He told him to hold still and pushed two fingers against the man’s eyelids and pulled them wide open, exposing an exponential amount of white.

“What the fuck are you doing?! Let me go you son of a bitch bastard!” His wet eye rolled this way and that in a sad attempt to escape the encroaching silver of the knife’s glimmering blade. He clenched his teeth as the sharp point pressed lightly against the darkness of his pupil, the tiny moans of fear he exuded steadily climbing to a shrill crescendo as the blade sunk deeper past the iris with a slick and mushy sound. Matthew twisted the knife once, twice, before pulling it out with a scooping motion and removing most of the eye.

It fell, bleeding and uselessly clinging to the thin tendrils of optic nerves and veins, to lay across Lovino’s cheek hideously.  Tears leaked from his unaffected ducts in a river of glistening beauty. “Aaagh, fucking fuck! Fucking stop it, please! Per favore, smetta, I’ll do anything, I’ll pay anything just _fucking stop_!”

Matthew pressed the tip of his index finger to his own lips and softly made a ‘shush’ sound. He smiled gently and pushed his finger into the dark cave of Lovino’s eye socket and ran it across the slick and slightly bumpy walls without regard to the man’s begging and pleading. He took his finger out and eyed the thin layer of blood that slicked his digits in interest. “I may as well…” He muttered to himself, biting the side of his lip in thought. It would probably be a while until he had a chance like this again, without the fear of his brother barging in and throwing a jealous fit like he always seemed to do when their victim was male.

“Hey… Hey, hey, hey, hey dude what the fuck?!” Lovino yelped when Matthew began unzipping his fly, his pain momentarily forgotten in sheer disbelief.

“It’s embarrassing to say out loud…” The blonde mumbled with a shy smile, so he just pointed to his crotch, then to Lovino’s eye socket.

The Italian could not believe his eyes, eye, and he just sat there for a moment dumbstruck. He felt his stomach turn at the sight of his attacker’s erection, “You’re gonna do _what_ , you bastard?! What the fuck! No! Let me go right now god damn it, let me go, let me go, let me go!” He screamed hoarsely, struggling with renewed vigor against his bonds as Matthew took hold of his head and pushed it down slightly to make for an easier angle.

After a bit of awkward fussing about how it was all going to work, he finally angled the tip of his member to aim directly for the panic-stricken man’s empty eye socket and push slowly inside. Lovino’s terrified whimpers slowly grew into yelps, then screams, and finally to moaning sobs by the time Matthew had forced the entire tip inside. A steady mantra of “What the fuck?” slipped from his lips as his entire body shook in fear, pain, and disbelief. Of all the ways he had pictured himself dying, being skull-fucked was not one of them. He had expected to go down in a hail of gunfire, or be poisoned, or rot away in jail. Something mafia-related and cool, not… whatever this was.

Matthew’s breath caught in his throat, the hot orifice squeezing around him so deliciously, and it took an incredible amount of control not to slam himself as far in as he could. He did not want to kill the man just yet, regardless of how entertaining it may be to watch. His last two (was it three?) had been various stages of dead before he had an opportunity to enjoy them properly and he was in the mood for a living, breathing partner that was not his clingy brother. He ran his fingers softly through Lovino’s sweat-moistened hair and began to rock his hips, eyes fluttering closed and biting his lip softly at the fantastic tightness. With each restrained thrust he pushed in further, centimeter by agonizing centimeter, noting with interest at how Lovino’s pained noises slowly became more of a series of confused grunts and moans. It was to be expected, he supposed, seeing as he had to be past the eye’s cavern and prodding against the man’s frontal lobe at that point.

Lovino made a kind of squeaking noise and his left leg twitched as violently as possible within its binds when Matthew finally found himself half-way inside. “Lovino, how are you doing?” He asked shakily, looking down at the man’s face. He was answered with nothing more than a low and drawn-out groan and noticed a thin line of limpid drool slide from the corner of his mouth. Yeah, that was definitely his brain he was poking. He pulled back to thrust in a little harder, watching with growing excitement at the way the man’s fingers would jerk and spasm as his mind sent jumbled signals throughout his body. Soon he found a comfortable rhythm, sinking himself further into Lovino’s brain with each thrust. The man twitched and cried out at random and disjointed intervals, most of what had made him a person already eradicated by Matthew’s increasingly violent misuse.

Feeling himself close, he pulled out almost entirely before he slammed back in as far as he could. Lovino thrashed a bit, his hands balling into tight fists, and let out a gurgling gasp just as Matthew’s seed flowed into him. He fell limp and dead like a rag doll and the blonde pulled from his eye socket slowly. As he tucked himself back into his pants he noticed the pink-hued mixture of blood and cum slide from the abused hole to dribble down across the man’s cheek and fall to his lap.

“Sorry about that, Lovino, I’d clean you up but I’m kind of in a hurry….” Matthew said with an awkward chuckle, suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious. He turned the camera off and threw his few items into their bag before he waved a quick ‘good bye’ and hurried from the room. As he closed the door behind himself he saw a small note lying on the floor.

 

_Mattie,_

_Went to Denny’s_

 

He rolled his eyes and stuffed the paper into his pocket. Of course his brother would decide to go stuff his face while he waited.

 

* * *

 

Some five minutes later, Matthew walked into the nearly deserted restaurant and smiled at his brother, who was in the process of sucking down his third milkshake in a row. He slid into the seat across from him with a little squeak from the cheaply upholstered seat. “How did it go on your end?”

“He made a lot of noise so I had to cut short. You?”

“It was perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia, Rubix Cubes, Converse shoes, Playstation, Fender guitars, the New Yorker (is that even real?), 7-Eleven, Marlboro cigarettes, Twinkies, Pepsi, VHS, Wal-Mart, DVDs, Bluray, NBC, HBO, or Nordstrom’s. This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to the lives of any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. I make no money from the writing of this fan-made product.


	3. Chapter 3

The man let out a long moan through the gag in his mouth, watching with blood-shot eyes as heavy boots moved past his vision, accompanied with the ever-present sound of lead dragging against concrete. The ground was cold, even in the night’s sticky heat, and bits and pieces of shattered bottles bore into his flesh each time he tried to wriggle away. His hands were bound behind his back, the tightness of the barbed wire slicing his flesh and cutting off his circulation. There was no reason to tie his legs, they had been broken hours ago with the same shining pipe that was held lazily in the man’s fingers as he stalked about the room, filling the space with the soft and melodious sound of his humming. Wang Yao, third-generation Chinese-American, squeezed his eyes shut when he approached, towering over his shaking form with a smile so soft and gentle that it made his flesh crawl. The violet-eyed man’s kind smirk and gentle demeanor was almost worse than the pain and slow, methodic torture Wang had experienced that night.

The pale man dropped to a squat with one smooth movement, balancing himself with the help of the long and blood-stained pipe he held, before he reached out and tenderly pulled the black elastic band from Wang’s hair. The smooth strands fell freely across his face and shoulders, and the man softly pushed a few locks from the Asian’s eyes. “You are pretty, just like girl.” The gentle compliment was spoken slowly and thickly accented, as if it took considerable effort to pronounce the words without fumbling them into a convoluted mess. Wang tried to pull his head away from the leather-clad hand to no avail, and the man laughed lightly.

Minutes slipped by soundlessly as he just stayed there, running his gloved fingertips through Wang’s long brown hair, his warm gaze sweeping over the smaller man’s features slowly. “It hurts?” He finally asked, tilting his head to the right, and Wang nodded as fresh tears beaded the corners of his eyes.

“That is good. Your pain is beautiful.” The bound man squeezed his eyes shut upon hearing the words. Everything hurt, everything was bruised and bloodied and all at once he wished for the man to stop his childish games and put an end to it. The now dull throb of shattered kneecaps, the holes in his fingertips from where long and twisted nails had been hammered, the burning of his cheek that was split almost to the ear. Countless bruises, a handful of broken ribs, the scratching pain of where the gag rubbed against his flame-blistered tongue. He wanted it to be over and done with, even death was better than the continued torture. He opened his eyes again and glared at the man, who was far too heavily dressed for the season, and let out a string of muffled words.

After a moment of contemplation, he pulled the gag from Wang’s lips and waited for him to speak.

Wang struggled with his tongue, stiff with small burns, before he managed to formulate a coherent sentence. “Kill me.” Violet eyes lit up at the request and an expression like he had just won some grand prize danced over his features. He wasted no time in bolting upright to stand and lift the long pipe over his head. Wang vaguely noticed how the silver light of the full moon that poured in through the window illuminated the man’s nearly platinum blonde hair as the metal pipe arced through the air.

 

* * *

 

When Matthew awoke at the hour of one in the PM, he was greeted with his brother straddling his hips with an expectant grin on his face. The younger blonde groaned and tried to roll over, but it seemed impossible with Alfred’s weight holding him in place. “Go away.” He muttered groggily, rubbing his dry eyes slowly as Alfred rocked his hips against him with a comically suggestive eyebrow wiggle.

“I’m in the mood for a good ol’ wake-n-bone, little bro.” He said as he leaned down, stark naked,  and plated a soft kiss on Matthew’s forehead.

“Isn’t Arthur still here?” The last thing he wanted to do was disturb their guest with Alfred’s loudness. He knew the look in the Brit’s eyes every time he was around his brother, and regardless of whether or not the man in question noticed, Matthew just was not comfortable flaunting his relationship before his lovesick friend.

Alfred left a wet trail of kisses over Matthew’s face and down his neck before he sucked some of the slightly salty skin between his lips and nibbled. His words were muffled as he busied himself dry-humping the man beneath him, “I think he went home last night. He wasn’t on the futon when I got up this morning.”

Matthew sighed harshly and rolled his eyes, “Fine, but you’re gonna do the dishes when we’re done.”

“That’s cool.”

Matthew pushed Alfred back to sit up, pull his nightshirt over his head, and fling it to the floor. “Don’t you think we should shower first?” He asked as he tilted back to begin tugging at his own red and white pajama pants.

“Way ahead of you, I’ve actually been up for a couple of hours now.” He gave a toothy smile before leaning forward to lick along Matthew’s neck and let his hands travel over his smooth sides. He was so soft and warm under Alfred’s fingertips, his scent intoxicating. He let out a little whine when Matthew pushed him away again to move on the bed.

“I’ll have time for foreplay when I’m dead.” The younger man said, motioning for Alfred to lay down with a little nod of his head.

“You’re no fun, ya know that?” Alfred grumbled, lying on his back. Matthew shook his head and made a little swivel with his fingers, so he rolled over and lifted his ass in the air with a light blush. “Quit staring at me, it’s creepy.”

“You’re fat.” Matthew stated flatly, pinching the side of his brother’s thigh and earning himself a hard glare.

“Well I guess that makes you a chubby-chaser.” He mumbled, turning his eyes away in embarrassment. Matthew just shrugged as he slid his index and middle fingers into his own mouth and slicked them with spit, and used his other hand to start stroking himself to life. Alfred’s thighs twitched a bit when his little brother pushed his wet digits against his entrance, rubbing around the tight muscle, then began to slowly sink inside. He moaned softly and lifted his head a bit to try and watch himself being fingered, his cheeks burning pink.

Matthew leaned down over him and pressed his fingers deeper, stretching and teasing the sensitive hole, “Were you doing weird things in the shower again?”

Alfred’s eyes squeezed shut and he shivered at the feel of the warm breath ghosting over his ear, “I-It’s not weird.” He murmured and arched his back into his brother’s skilled fingers with a low moan. So he had the habit of playing around a bit while he bathed? He did it for Matthew, who was often times too impatient to go about properly preparing him and would end up causing quite a bit of pain when he tried to push inside. That was not to say he didn’t enjoy the solo prep time or anything, but he found it to be horrifyingly embarrassing when his brother brought it up.

“Quit being a douche and fuck me.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Matthew said with a little smirk, lifting himself onto his knees and looking about the unkempt floor. “Where the heck did the lube go?”

“Who cares?” Alfred snapped, and yelped sharply when the younger man pulled his fingers out and pressed the head of his member against his entrance. “Use spit or something, dick!”

Matthew chuckled and spat into his hand, “I was kidding, I don’t want you limping around the house again.” After he had slicked himself with a little grimace at the vulgarity of using saliva, he slid the tip against Alfred’s hole a few times before pushing in slowly. His brother was hot and tight, squirming slightly beneath him as he pushed in inch by agonizingly pleasurable inch.

Alfred pushed back against him, his inner walls squeezing hungrily, “Go hard, Mattie…” His voice was little more than a lustful gasp against the sheets. Matthew grumbled something about having just woken up but pulled out almost all of the way to slam back in forcefully. Alfred moaned loudly as Matthew pounded into him, his toes curling at the rapidly building pleasure of himself being filled.

“Do you have to be so loud?” Matthew asked him through pants, taking hold of Alfred’s hip to help steady himself as each movement threatened to knock his balance off center.

“It’s only ‘silent and cold’ or ‘bloody and shrieking’ with you,” Alfred managed to pant as his hand snaked down between his own legs and took hold of his dick, “there’s no middle-ground.” Matthew grumbled at him to ‘shut up’ and Alfred managed a breathy laugh as he stroked himself in time with the hard thrusts that were pushing him forward on the mattress from time to time. Pleasure coursed through him when his prostate was finally hit and he cried out loudly, arching his back and increasing his hand’s pace.

“Is it good for you, too?” He asked as he bit his lip.

“What is this, some crappy internet porn rag? Of course it is, don’t ask stupid questions.”

“I love you, Mattie.” Alfred’s eyelids fluttered shut as he felt the pressure of imminent release building.

“I know, now stop talking for once.” Matthew muttered, leaning over the older man to bite his shoulder blade lightly, his eyes scrunching shut at the feeling of Alfred’s inner walls clamping down tightly. He pushed in a few times as far as he could go, knowing his release near. He was so close, the pleasure building into an apogee of physical euphoria-

The bedroom door slammed open hard enough to crash into the wall with a resounding ‘bam’, “Hey! Shut the fuck up in here!” Arthur roared with a hard glare. Matthew let out a little shriek and rolled away from Alfred while tugging the sheet up over himself in embarrassment.

“Can’t a bloke shoot up in peace around here without listening to your god-awful racket?!” The petite man’s clutter of bracelets clanked loudly as he slapped the door frame.

“I thought you said he went home!” Matthew snapped at Alfred, who had rolled off onto the floor and was in the process of tugging on a random pair of jeans.

“I told you he wasn’t out there earlier!” The older man cried, face burning pink.

Arthur threw a folded newspaper onto the floor, “I went out to pick up some breakfast, you bloody idiot!” He fumed angrily as he untied the tourniquet around his lightly bleeding arm with practiced efficiency. He spun on his heel and stormed from the room, grumbling loudly.

“Cock block.” Alfred muttered from his spot on the floor.

Matthew ran his hand over his face in exasperation and sighed loudly with a shake of his head. “How embarrassing.”

Alfred crawled over to the newspaper that lay on the floor as Matthew went about getting dressed.

 

_The Most Violent Murder Yet?_

_Thirty year old Wang Yao was discovered dead in an abandoned warehouse last night at about 2:45am, by an eyewitness who has requested to remain anonymous. Police officials are certain that it was the work of the newest serial killer to terrorize our city, aptly dubbed ‘The Romantic Torturer’ for the sunflowers and Cyrillic symbols for the word ‘Beauty’ that have been at both crime scenes._

A cry of “what the fuck” could be heard throughout the neighborhood.

Alfred stormed into the living room, skimming the report with an expression of pure rage painting his features. He found Arthur sitting cross-legged on the futon with the TV turned to the BBC, patiently melting a few rocks of methamphetamine in his bubbler. He threw himself down next to him and Arthur shot him an icy glare.

“Watch it, you fat idiot! Do you have any idea how easily these things break?!”

“Shut the hell up, Arty, you’ve got enough cash to afford a mountain of those damn things. Now,” He turned the page for his friend to see, “what the fuck is this shit?! Me and Mattie aren’t in here ‘til page nine or something!”

Arthur circled his butane lighter’s flame around the tiny glass sphere, watching as the little crystals melted into a smooth puddle and thick smoke circled about. He removed the heat and took a long and slow hit, then leaned back and let the pure white cloud of smooth smoke float up from his mouth and obscure his features as he spoke, “How the hell should I know? I’m not a reporter.”

“Bear claws? Thanks, Arthur!” Matthew’s small voice could be heard from the kitchen, accompanied by the clanking of dishes and silverware.

“It was a rhemorical question.”

“Rhetorical.” Arthur said, leaning forward again to prepare another hit of the already solidified drug.

“What the fuck ever!” Alfred snapped, crunching the newspaper into a ball and throwing it across the room. Matthew sauntered in and handed a plate to Alfred, then smiled and offered one to his friend. Arthur waved it away as he inhaled the smoke slowly.

“I’m sorry you had to walk in on that, Alfred said you went home.” Matthew apologized, taking a seat on the bean-bag chair. Arthur just grunted as he ran the flame in slow circles. “You dyed your hair. It looks good.”

Arthur smiled lightly at the compliment, pushing his softly shaking fingers through his now blue-tipped locks unconsciously. He turned his eyes to Alfred and his smile turned to a glare, “Way to not even notice, you git.”

Alfred waved him away like one would shoo a bothersome insect, “I noticed, and it looks cool. I thought I told you that already.” Arthur’s scowl softened into a gentle smile at the words.

“You’re too stupid to tell the difference between thinking and speaking.” Matthew mumbled through a bite of pastry, leaning back and pulling the remote from the floor to flip aimlessly through the channels. Alfred stuck his tongue out at him childishly before he dug into his breakfast, chewing away noisily.

Arthur stood to set his pipe on the cardboard box, then reached into his pocket to produce a small plastic container of little Buddha-stamped pills, and ovular white ones. Alfred pursed his lips and frowned, rolling himself over on the futon to eyeball his friend. “How much have you had today?”

Arthur tilted his green eyes up and to the right in thought as he went about crushing the Vicodin with his specially designated spoon, “Hit of china white, couple benzos, I’m tweekin’ pretty hard at this point, and now these lovelies.” He replied, popping the ecstasy pills onto his tongue and washing them down with a quick pull from his flask, then went about pushing the spoon-flattened powder into neat lines.

“You’re gonna die, dude, and Mattie’s gonna do some weird shit to you.” Alfred pointed out and was hit in the back of the head by the projectile remote. As his brother went about quietly chastising his ‘crass idiocy’, Alfred deftly ignored the diatribe and watched the white powder disappear up his older friend’s nose with a little grimace. _Something like that should probably hurt_ , he decided.

Arthur let out a long and contented sigh, wiped his nose, and promptly fell face-first onto the makeshift table with a dull ‘thump’. Alfred burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of the spectacle and Matthew scrambled up to check on his friend’s health. He lifted his head and pressed his index and middle finger against his throat for a few seconds, before he dropped him back onto the box-table and shrugged. “He’s fine, just passed out.”

Matthew stood, thought about something for a moment, then dropped back down to his knees beside Arthur’s unconscious form. He stared at him for a moment, then poked his cheek. Poke, poke, poke, slid his finger down Arthur’s warm neck. He had a fabulous complexion for someone who imbibed enough drugs in a day to kill a bus full of kindergarteners. He was warm, and smooth, with the tiniest hint of a tattoo peeking out from the neck of the looser shirts he occasionally wore. Such soft, smooth, delicate flesh. Arthur was truly something else. Truly something-

“Cut that shit out!” Alfred snapped, slapping his brother’s hand away. When had he gotten up? “Help me carry Arty over to the futon and stop being such a freak.” He was already wrapping his hands under the man’s shoulders and pulling him up from the floor. Matthew rolled his eyes and went about helping his brother carry him, who was thankfully quite light. After they had dropped him unceremoniously onto the futon, Matthew stretched and announced his need for a shower. Alfred tried to follow, but was sent away with a few politely spoken, yet incredibly harsh, words. He let out an angry ‘huff’, then flopped down at Arthur’s feet with his arms crossed.

His friend groaned lightly and opened his eyes. He looked around a bit before his gaze landed on Alfred and he smiled. A little trickle of blood flowed from his left nostril as he rolled himself over onto his back and extended his arms. “Give me a hug, lad.”

“’Lad’? What are you, eighty?” Alfred chuckled, noticing that Arthur’s pupils were absolutely massive. His friend wriggled about on the old seat, waving him closer with a lop-sided smile and that eye-catching stripe of red trailing from his nostril and bending over the small inclination of his upper lip.

Alfred rolled his eyes and leaned to the side to pull his inebriated friend into a chaste hug, scrunching his nose at the sharp and antiseptic scent of meth that seemed to permeate Arthur’s being to the very core. He let out a little yelp when Arthur pulled him into a firmer embrace, shocked that someone so slight and wanton with their physical health could be so strong. He laughed lamely and started trying to disconnect himself from the man with a soft “Whoa, Arty, chill.”

He was yanked down to nearly laying over the rather ‘punk’ man, holding himself up with this arms. Somehow, Alfred had never noticed how his eyes were the same color as spring leaves, or how his lips parted ever so slightly when he smiled, or the exact shade of the tiny whisper of a yet to be shaven mustache decorating his upper lip. Arthur’s cheeks were colored the most minute shade of pink, and his right pupil appeared to be dilated further than his left. The older blond ran his fingers softly across Alfred’s jaw, his black-tinted nails scraping the smooth skin ever so slightly.

“I like you, Alfred.” He muttered breathily, letting his fingers play through the taller man’s hair.

“Dude, that’s just the X talking.” Alfred chuckled, pulling away slightly. Arthur pulled him back, his face stone serious.

“No, I mean it. I really, _really_ like you.”

“You really need to lay off the dru-” Arthur yanked him down and slammed their mouths together so hard that for a moment Alfred was worried he had chipped a tooth. His eyes flew open and he let out a series of muffled grunts that were meant to sound more like “what the hell” as Arthur forced a rapidly deepening kiss from his lips, more shock than lack of strength keeping him from wrenching himself away. By the time Arthur’s pierced tongue had finally forced it’s way into his mouth, Alfred had composed himself enough to pull away, panting heavily.

He wiped the vagrant spit and stripe of blood from his lips with the back of his wrist as he spoke, “Dude, what the fuck?!” His face was burning bright red as he stared down at Arthur in shock.

“I really do like you, Alfred.”

“That’s all you gotta say? Arty, you know I’m with Mattie.”

“He wont care.”

The words actually pissed Alfred off more than he had expected, “Fuck you he wont."

Arthur moved a bit on his spot on the futon, his hand snaking over his torso to pull up his shirt and expose his flat, pale stomach. “I bet he never lets you top.”

Alfred bet the universe that it would be impossible for him to blush any harder than he was, “What does that matter?”

“I’ll let you.” Heavily lined eyes blinked slowly, one at a time, as he spoke and lifted his shirt higher. Alfred immediately lost his cosmic wager when Arthur flipped his fly open with practiced ease.

His face burning with awkward embarrassment, Alfred turned away to stare at the floor and mumble out a few unintelligible words while adjusting his glasses.  He hated it when Arthur mixed his stash when Matthew was not around, it had always made him act so weird and touchy-feely. How many time had the Englishman come on to him that week? Three now, probably. All at once he wondered if he tried the same thing with his brother and a stab of jealousy hit him. Alfred could barely stand the fact that his brother liked to mess around with the people they were killing, so the idea of him and Arthur, who was to remain very much alive….

The bathroom door clicked open and Matthew emerged with a contented sigh, rubbing his head with a towel and pushing his glasses into place. Arthur yanked his shirt down far enough to conceal his open fly and lifted his hand in a small wave.

“Hey, I was worried you’d die while I was in there.” Matthew said with a relieved smile, laying his towel across the back of the futon to dry. Arthur just shrugged.

“Gentlemen are resilient.”

Matthew chuckled and plopped down onto the beanbag chair, then began pulling a comb through his damp hair. “So what are we doing today, Alfred?” He asked, turning his attention to his brother.

Alfred forced a smile, his mind still full with thoughts of what may have happened between Matthew and Arthur, and leaned back to think. “Well, we should probably go see Ludwig and drop the new vid’ off… Then maybe go hit up that warehouse where they found that sunflower-loving douche bag’s last person. Look for clues or something.”

“With no forensics, right? Somehow I doubt we’re gonna find much.” Matthew set his comb on the floor and went about using his fingers to push his hair into place.

Arthur slowly rose to a shaky sit and rubbed the bridge of his nose before speaking. “I… I think I’m going to throw up.”

“Gross, Arty! Go to the bathroom then!” Alfred said, grimacing and scooting away.

“…I can’t feel my lips.” Was all the man managed to mumble before lurching over and emptying his stomach all over their floor.

 

* * *

 

About an hour later, after they had cleaned the mess Arthur made and deposited him on the kitchen floor to avoid another mishap on the carpet, Alfred and Matthew entered Ludwig’s shop. The tall man was sweeping the cheap tile floor with a look of mild irritation on his face.

“What’s up with you?” Alfred inquired with a tilt of his head. Ludwig just let out a long and heavy sigh, shaking his head and setting the broom aside.

“You Americans are so filthy.” He nodded toward Matthew, “See him? You could take a few lessons.” Alfred turned to see his brother wiping his feet on the entry rug. He rolled his eyes and walked back to the doorway to give his shoes a few passes over the old mat, then turned back to Ludwig with an eyebrow raised as if to say ‘there, we cool now?’.

Ludwig gave an abrupt nod as he set his broom aside and walked behind the immaculately cleaned counter, motion for the men to follow. Once they had entered the back room, a small and dimly lit place decorated by a large grandfather clock and metal desk, Ludwig took a seat and asked them what product they had for him.

While Matthew fished the DVD from his bag, Alfred leaned up against the desk. “We actually got two yesterday, but we only have one camera so we only have this douche bag guy Mattie worked on. Oh, and I need some info.”

“What could you possibly need to know that I would have heard about?” Ludwig asked, lacing his fingers together, his posture impeccable.

“You’ve heard of this new guy, right? Romantic something-or-other, the papers are calling him.” Ludwig nodded and reached out to take the disk from Matthew. “Well I need to know if you’d have any idea who that might be or where to find him. Assuming it’s a him.”

“And how would I know that?” The older man asked, swiveling in his desk chair to poke the ‘on’ buttons of his television and DVD player.

“You deal in some pretty unsavory shit, Luddy, so I feel like you may have met someone who could be suspicious. They say he writes something in Cyrillic, whatever that is, at all of his scenes.”

Matthew all but faded into the sparse shadows of the room as he sat down on the floor up against the wall before he spoke, “Cyrillic is what Russian writing is called.”

“You know any Russians, then?” Alfred asked as Ludwig pushed the disk into the machine and poked ‘play’. He sat there for a moment and eyed the screen, rolling the question over in his mind. “I get a few customers that are obviously Russian, with the accents and everything. Three of them, two men and one woman.”

“Let’s focus on the dudes for now.”

“Well, one’s quite old. Probably in his fifties, and the other appears to be pretty young. Older than you two… Maybe twenty-five? Big guy, usually wearing this beige jacket that you would think would kill him in this heat.”

Alfred leaned forward in interest, “Big as in fat or big as in buff?”

“It’s hard to tell with the coat.”

Alfred nodded, the sounds of Lovino begging pathetically a dull hum in the background. He stood there a moment, thinking, before he pushed himself up to stand. “Think that’s our guy?” He asked, turning to look at his brother.

“Seems like pretty shaky grounds to start pointing fingers around with.”

“We should go check out that warehouse.”

Ludwig smoothed his hair back as he spoke, “Why are you looking for him?”

Alfred let out a huff of air and crossed his arms over his chest, “He’s been stealing my headlines and it’s pissing me off.”

“That has to be the most foolish thing I’ve heard all day. What makes you think he’ll take kindly to you guys tracking him down if you manage it?”

“If he’s a dick about it, we’ll just have to take him out.” Alfred said it with such conviction that Ludwig actually chuckled. “So you wanna buy this one?”

“Yes, I feel like the length alone will get me a good price. Also, whatever you’re doing here, Matthew, seems like just the thing your biggest fan will enjoy.”

Matthew blushed beet red, turning his eyes from the screen with a tiny embarrassed squeak. Alfred turned to look at the screen and frowned deeply. “Ew, Mattie, what the fuck?”

Matthew wanted to climb into a hole and die.

“Anyway,” Alfred said with a disgusted scowl and turning away from the television, “What do you mean by ‘biggest fan’?”

“That big Russian man, he buys almost everything you guys drop off. He’s actually kind of creepy, always in here with that weird happy-go-lucky smile.”

“Nothing wrong with being in a good mood.” Alfred said as Ludwig switched the player off and stood to make his way back to the counter. The brothers followed closely behind, Matthew still staring at the ground like it had suddenly become extremely interesting.

Ludwig opened the cash register and began rifling through bills. “It’s not a normal happiness, it’s like this permanent little smirk. I’m not sure what it is, exactly, but it’s very unnerving.” He turned and counted out a full $300.00 and handed it to Alfred before depositing the excess cash back into the register and closing it.

“We’d like to stay and chill a little, but we got shit to do.” He said, shoving the bills into his pocket and turning to walk away.

“Let me know what comes of it.” Ludwig said as they walked from the store and out into the mercifully cool daylight air. The door shut with the little jangle of the bell and Alfred pushed his hands into his pockets.

“Are we going to the warehouse right now?” Matthew asked quietly, looking at the people walking up and down the streets with what could only be described as a mix of fear and repulsion.

“I dunno dude, if I look away you might stick your dick in something.” Alfred snapped, turning on his heel and storming down the sidewalk.

“D-don’t leave me behind!” Matthew yelped weakly, shuffling after his brother. “Why are you so mad, it isn’t like you didn’t do anything to Feliciano.”

“I didn’t! I never do, you dick-ass!”

“…‘Dick-ass?’ Anyway, there’s no way I’m believing that.”

“I don’t cheat.”

“Not even the dead ones?” Matthew asked incredulously. “’It ain’t cheating if they ain’t breathing’, or so they say.”

“Especially not the dead ones! That’s disgusting! And who the hell says that anyway?”

Matthew raised an eyebrow as he rushed a ways past Alfred and spun around to look at him while they spoke, “Everyone.”

“More like no one.”

“So what about this Russian fan guy?” The younger man asked, intent of changing the subject.

“We’ll check him out later, we gotta see this scene first.”

 

* * *

 

Two buses and about twenty minutes of walking had the pair standing outside of an old cannery warehouse. It was large and adorned in yellow police tape, run-down and out of the way. Alfred chastised himself for never having scoped the place out for a potential ‘kill spot’ ages ago as they ducked past the incessant commands of ‘police line, do not cross’ and walked into the old building. The dirty floor was littered in the shattered remnants of what were probably liquor bottles from some college kid’s party or a hobo’s excessive bender, and most of the windows were but a few shards of glass clinging feebly to neglected panes. It was heavily shadowed and stank of dust and the heady reek of stagnant blood curdling in the summer heat.

Alfred wrinkled his nose at the offending scent and covered his mouth with his hand. Filtering the air through his fingers helped a bit, but nothing could hide the sharp odor entirely. Matthew seemed unaffected by the unpleasant scenery and was scanning the area near the door for anything that could suffice as a clue. Alfred looked to the far wall and saw the tape lines that had outlined the body, and the large scrawling symbols across the wall. From the streaks of blood that lined the floor, it looked as if the killer had finished the guy near the center of the room, then dragged him to the far wall and sat him up to write the word just above his head.

“What the fuck’s the point of that?” Alfred muttered to himself, sauntering lazily over to the wall and looking around. Dirt, glass, and blood were all that appeared to have been left behind by the police. It was a shame, really. Near the patch of blood in the middle of the room was another series of arcing splatters. Alfred knew what caused that; beating with a fairly long and blunt object. Like a bat, a pipe, a golf club, or a big stick. A small twist of barbed wire lay in the corner, and upon further inspection was smeared with blood. A few cigarette butts littered one corner of the room, but there was no way to tell if they belonged to the man that they were looking for or were left behind by whoever had shattered about fifty bottles across the floors.

“You find anything?” He asked his brother, still eyeing the floor.

“Tell me what I’m supposed to be finding and I’ll let you know.” Matthew called back, kicking shards left and right.

Alfred sighed heavily, “I don’t fucking know, anything out of the ordinary?”

“Stop your stupid little tantrum already, Alfred. That guy’s dead, there’s no point in being so jealous!” Matthew snapped, leaning up against the wall.

“Well maybe if you’d stop trying to fuck everything on two legs I wouldn’t be mad! I bet you and Arty even-”

“Arthur?” Matthew laughed humorlessly, “Thanks but no thanks, he’s my friend and that’s it! Besides, even if in some bizzaro world I liked him like that I know he wouldn’t try anything because he’s not that kind of guy. Yeah, he’s a junky, but that doesn’t make him a slut. He wouldn’t try anything, knowing we’re… ya know.”

“In love?”

“Hardy gosh darn har, Alfred. Put your woman away, if I wanted some chic to talk my ear off all day with that sappy crap I’d find one.” Matthew glared at him and turned on his heel to stalk from the building.

Alfred stood there a moment, chewing the side of his lip in frustration, before he rushed out after his little brother. He found him sitting on an overturned trash can. He walked up next to him and just stood there a moment in silence. “Why are you such an asshole?”

Matthew said nothing, opting instead to turn his face away from Alfred and kick a rock across the concrete. Alfred called his name a few times, but to no avail. He moved closer and poked his thigh with the tip of his sneaker, but was still unanswered. “What, you gonna ignore me all day now?”

Nothing but another little pebble being kicked across the way.

“Oh c’mon dude, you know I was just kidding.” Still nothing. “Hey, hey, Mattie… Dude, I didn’t mean it, don’t be mad alright?”

Silence on Matthew’s part.

“I’m sorry!” Alfred’s voice began to take on a rather whining tone, “I won't bug you about it anymore, okay? You can do what you want, cuz I know you don’t really _like them_ , like them.” He moved a bit closer and dropped down to a squat. “I promise, you can do what you want with anyone and I won't complain.”

Matthew turned to look at him and smile lightly, and Alfred absolutely beamed.

He lifted himself from the can with a long yawn. “It’s getting pretty late, let’s start heading back. I wanted to make some Hamburger Helper for dinner, so I don’t want to get back too late.”

Alfred just nodded and started following him back the way they had come.

* * *

 

By the time they had reached their house, the sun had sunk low into the horizon and was casting murky pink light across the city. They were discussing how the were going to go about finding the “weird Russian guy” Ludwig had mentioned when Alfred stopped and glowered at the door. It stood slightly ajar, and no sound came from inside.

“Fucking Arty left the god damned door open again? I swear, if we got robbed I’m gonna kick his ass.” He pushed the door open and stepped inside to be greeted with darkness. Matthew shut the door and Alfred flipped on the light, and stopped dead in his tracks. In the living room, leaning over Arthur (who had apparently moved back onto the futon), was a rather large man in a thick jacket. He sat there, face excessively close to the sleeping man’s, just staring at him.

“Who the fuck are you?” Alfred demanded, wishing he had not left his gun on the other side of the room, yet glad that he always left his bat by the door. He pushed Matthew back a ways, blocking him with his body.

The man turned, a gentle yet unnerving smile stretching his lips. “Alfred, Matthew, you’re home.”

 

* * *

 

A/N:

I do not own Axis Powers: Hetalia, the BBC, Vicodin, DVDs, or Hamburger Helper. 


	4. Chapter 4

As the man slowly stood, even more intimidating at his full height, Alfred reached out to his side to take up his bat. “Who the fuck are you, why are you in my house, and what the fuck did you do to Arty?” He asked slowly, his gaze flitting from the smirking stranger, to Arthur, and back.

The violet-eyed man unbuttoned his jacket slowly as he spoke, “My name is Ivan.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a long metal faucet pipe that he held at the base at his side. “You are the Skin Brothers, da?”

“How do you know who we are?” Alfred demanded, tapping the bat on his calf lightly as he sized up his opponent. He knew that his high physical strength would be the deciding factor if things came to blows, and the man‘s size would probably slow him down considerably.

 _This’ll be easy._ He thought confidently, a small smile forming on his lips.

The man’s face lit up at the confirmation of his guess at their identities. He looked back down at Arthur for a moment, and then all at once he rushed the brothers, pipe raised high and a wild look in his eyes. Alfred was shocked by Ivan’s speed and barely had enough time to raise his bat to block the pipe’s jarring blow. The weapons clashed hard enough to send a painful reverberation down the length of Alfred’s bat that left his hands tingling and sore. He pushed back hard enough to knock Ivan back a few steps and swung, missing his shoulder by a few centimeters, and was sent sprawling back by a heavy kick to the hip.

Matthew ran past them and into the living room, knowing himself useless in head-on confrontation. He tried to rush to where Arthur lay to check if he was still alive but was cut off by the sharp whizzing sound of the pipe swinging just above his head. He had just barely managed to dodge it by dropping to the floor and letting out a small yelp at the pain that shot through his knees upon impact.

Ivan let out a disturbingly carefree giggle as he lifted the pipe to aim for Matthew again, “This is fun!”

“’Fun’ my ass!” Alfred yelled, hopping from the floor and swinging at the tall man again, only to be blocked with ease. Each connection of wood on steel sent painful tremors through his arms, but he continued his onslaught to distract Ivan from his relatively helpless brother. He swung for Ivan’s ribs once, twice, three times before the pale man hopped back, twisted into a crouch, and launched his pipe through the air. Shocked by the move, Alfred had no time to dodge and was struck square in the thigh. He cried out loudly at the intense pain but did not fall, his left hand going immediately to try to rub the sore spot. It was becoming painfully clear that he had grossly underestimated Ivan, and the confined space of their entry-way was severely limiting his mobility. So much for any kind of agility he could have counted on.

“Well that was fucking stupid, how’re you gonna block me now?!” He laughed in triumph, limping slightly as he prepared himself to swing. His bat arced down, aiming for Ivan’s head, and his eyes grew wide when the man dropped to the side and produced two sickles from his jacket in one smooth movement. He swung out, caught Alfred’s weapon, and with a strong flick sent it clattering to the floor and rolling away. His thick jacket rustled noisily as he sprung from the floor and lunged at Alfred and took a few controlled swings. Alfred barely managed to move away in time, and his heart sunk when his back collided with the door.

Ivan grinned and stood straight, spinning the sickles nimbly in his hands as he approached his cornered opponent slowly. And then he laughed, a light and oddly soothing sound, as he pushed the blades back into his jacket. “You are better than I thought. Which are you, Alfred or Matthew?”

Alfred’s mind twisted a thick haze of confusion over and over before he licked his dry lips, swallowed back his fear, and replied. “I’m Alfred, that’s Mattie.”

“I love your work.” Ivan said, his face a show of childish admiration.

“Our… Work?” He raised an eyebrow, trying to place the man’s accent. It was so thick that it was actually slightly difficult to understand what he said, and Alfred was grateful for the deliberately slow way the man spoke.

“I am your biggest fan!” Ivan declared, extending his arms out at his sides as he turned to look back from Alfred to Matthew, who was on his knees whispering quietly to Arthur. “You bring out such beauty in your work!” He took a moment to eye Arthur.

“Who is that?” He called out to Matthew.

He jumped a little at the question, and turned slowly to eye the strange man. “This is… This is Arthur, our friend.” He swallowed slowly before continuing, “Did you do anything to him?”

Ivan shook his head, “Nyet, I was only watching him.”

“Why?”

“He is broken, and very lovely. He called for you many times in his sleep.” He said, turning to address Alfred. The blonde raised an eyebrow at the information but said nothing.

Matthew spoke up quietly, “Why are you here?”

“I wished to meet you.” Ivan said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Matthew said nothing and cast a look at his brother, who shrugged softly.

“And why did you attack us?” He inquired, rising to his feet.

“I thought it would be thrilling,” Ivan said in excitement, “And it was, very much!” He walked over to where his pipe lay and scooped it up, then made his way toward the beanbag chair with the metal sliding noisily across the floor behind him. He plopped down on the seat lazily and cast a grin toward both of the men before his gaze landed on Matthew and stuck.

“I have heard that you were looking for me.”

“Looking for you…?” Matthew asked, and suddenly realization dawned. “You’re that Romantic Something guy?”

Ivan scoffed, “A foolish title."

“Well, ours is pretty dumb too. It’s like all of the good reporters were on vacation and they just threw something together off of the tops of their heads.” Matthew chucked, shrugging slightly. Alfred came into the room to sit at Arthur’s feet; somehow the man had not been woken by the rather loud burst of excitement only moments ago. He tapped his hands on his own thighs a few times, thinking.

“You’re invading our territory.” He finally said, glaring at Ivan.

“How do you mean?”

“That’s why I wanted to find you, so I could tell you to pack up and go somewhere else.” Alfred snapped, “You’re stealing my headlines and getting people even more worked up then they already were. It’s gonna get real fucking hard to find some good people if you keep doing whatever weird shit it is that you do and freak everyone out about ‘stranger danger.’”

“There are more than enough people in New York, Alfred.” Ivan stated, crossing his ankles and toying with his pipe.

“I’ve told him that about a thousand times.” Matthew said with an exasperated little chuckle, “He’s pretty thick-headed sometimes. So, I hear you knocked off a couple of people so far. You new to this, or…?” He leaned forward in interest.

Ivan nodded, “Yes, I have always had a great…” He searched for the right word for a moment, “interest in such things but I was very busy back home and had no time. Life is so easy for you Americans, there is so much time for resting and hobbies.

“I came to this city because I had read that you two were here, and I had wished to meet you.”

 _That’s just creepy._ Alfred thought with his gaze flitting to his brother, who appeared to be filled with a mix of embarrassment and a kind of self-satisfaction upon hearing that he had a “fan.”

Arthur groaned from his spot on the cheap couch and forced his eyes open. “Alfred, good morning.” He murmured groggily and sat up.

“We’ve got a guest, and it’s just started getting dark.” Matthew said.

Arthur turned his attention to Ivan, who offered up a little wave. “Who the hell are you?”

“That commie sunflower-loving bastard we were looking for.” Alfred interjected when Ivan began to speak, “And he’s just leaving.” The interest in his brother’s eyes when he looked at the man made his insides crawl with jealousy. Matthew never looked at _him_ like that, and some newbie piece of shit like this didn’t even deserve his brother’s attention, much less his growing curiosity.

“Stop being rude, Al.” Matthew snapped at him under his breath. “Ivan, I’d love to hear more about you, would you mind staying a little longer?”

“Of course not, if it is okay with Alfred.” Ivan said, with a little nod in the man’s direction.

Matthew shot his brother a hard glare and raised his eyebrows, and Alfred glowered. “I guess you can hang out for a couple hours.”

The men’s eyes met and for a moment and Alfred could have sworn Ivan’s gaze held a kind of mocking expression. His hands balled into fists but he kept silent when Matthew began to shoot out questions: Where are you from? How old are you? When did you first start getting interested in that kind of pass-time? How was your first? Was it hard? Was it messy? Was it supposed to be messy? What’s up with the sunflowers and stuff? Do you only go for men or was that a thing of convenience? What are your methods?

Russia. Twenty-seven. When I was a child, after I saw a man shot in a mugging. Exhilarating, everything I had thought it was going to be. Somewhat. Da. Da. They enhance the beauty. Women are ugly and lumpy. I am not sure yet, I have been experimenting.

 _‘Ugly and lumpy’ he says, what kind of stupid shit is that?_ _‘Enhance the beauty’ my ass, what a fag._ Alfred thought to himself, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest and pouting. _Russia looks like Candy Land anyway, why the fuck does Mattie think this guy’s so cool?_

Matthew excused himself to prepare some coffee for everyone, politely expressing his sincere interest in further conversation with Ivan as he gave a little wave and walked into the kitchen. Alfred sat there, resting his arms on his knees and silently studying Ivan. The Russian met his gaze and they sat there a moment, the only sounds in the room coming from the light clinking of mugs resonating from the kitchen. Their gazes remained locked as they sent out a thousand silent insults. Ivan rested his arms over the sides of the over-sized beanbag chair and crossed his legs, relaxing lazily. His smile quirked up at the corner in a silent chuckle and he winked suggestively.

 _Is he fucking hitting on me?_ Alfred thought to himself, adverting his eyes for a moment before looking back at the man. Ivan just smiled, his eyes mocking at Alfred’s failure at some kind of primal power-play. Alfred glared at him and abruptly stood, then made his way into the kitchen.

Matthew was watching the little brown drip within the coffee maker with a patient disinterest. Alfred stalked up behind him and patted him on the shoulder. “Dude, you’re wasting the good coffee? Just give him that instant crap.”

Matthew turned to look at him. “I’m not giving a guest instant coffee.”

“Oh come on, dude, why can’t I just send him home yet? He’s fucking creepy.” Alfred whispered, pushing his hands into his pockets and bouncing lightly from foot to foot.

Matthew stood up straight and turned to face Alfred completely, and crossed his arms over his chest. “He isn’t creepy, Alfred. What’s your problem with him?”

“What the hell do you mean ‘he isn’t creepy?’ He was creepin’ on Arthur, broke into our god damned house, _tried to kill us_ because he thought it was ‘fun,’ and now he’s claiming to be some fan?”

“I thought you wanted fans! Now there’s one sitting in our living room and you’re whining at me about it!” Matthew snapped.

“Well when I said I wanted fans, I didn’t mean creepy Communist dudes that-”

Matthew’w voice shot out like a knife, softly spoken yet shockingly commanding and harsh. “He is staying and I don’t want to hear your crap anymore, Al, or so help me _I will gut you while you sleep_.” He spun around, blonde hair fanning out in a gentle arc, and leaned down to begin watching the coffee pot once more. “Now get out there and be civil for once. This is why I don’t have any friends.” The last thought came out as a mutter more to himself than to Alfred.

The older man cleared his throat awkwardly, fished for something to say and found nothing, so he just nodded weakly and walked back into the living room. He dropped himself heavily onto the futon and leaned against the armrest indolently.

“You have a very large home.” Ivan commented offhandedly, looking about the room.

Alfred snorted. “Not really.”

“My apartment is quite small.”

“You broke? I suppose you’re used to being poor, right?” Alfred pushed his fingers through his hair casually as he spoke.

“I was too busy working as a boy to finish my education. I had many mouths to feed in my home for a very long time. Oh, I forget!” His smirk grew. “You must not know of ‘hark work’, you could not have dug a ditch in your life. Tell me, Alfred,” He leaned forward and laced his fingers together, “do you know what a ‘shovel’ is?”

Alfred clenched his hand into a fist a few times, ready to call the man to blows, when Matthew walked into the room in a cloud of apologies for the time he had taken. He handed out the mugs, mismatched thrift store novelty items (complements of Alfred), and sat down. “I would love to see your work. Would you happen to have anything you keep from it?”

“I take pictures.” Ivan said, leaning slightly to the right to reach into his jeans pocket and rummage around for a moment. He finally fished out a small stack of photographs and leaned forward to hand them to Matthew.

“You just carry them around? The fuck?” Alfred asked.

“I brought them in case this meeting would go as well as it has.” Ivan explained, taking up his pipe again to toy with it. Matthew riffled through the photos, nodding appreciatively.

“This is pretty good, Ivan. Very clean, well executed. Look, Alfred,” He said, leaning over toward his brother and holding the pictures out. They were all from various times during Ivan’s last victim, Wang Yao, and became increasingly gristly as time went on.

Alfred scowled as they neared the end of the series, and turned his head away to stare off at nothing. “That’s disgusting. You know I don’t have a stomach for that kind of nasty shit.”

“You need to grow some taste.” Matthew said, leaning back to his spot. Arthur snored softly in the small moment of silence that permeated the room, then Matthew handed the pictures back to their owner.

“May I?” Ivan asked, fishing a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket.

“May as well.” Alfred snapped, “Since it seems like everyone that comes over just insists on fucking up Mattie’s air. He’s asthmatic, you know.”

Matthew rolled his eyes. “I am not, and never have been. At least complain about something that’s real, Alfred. Go ahead, Ivan, I don’t mind.”

The man nodded appreciatively and placed a cigarette in his mouth, then flicked his lighter a few times before it flared to life. He took a long, slow drag, and blew the smoke out in neat little grey-white circles. The room was quiet but for Arthur’s unintelligible sleep babble (when had he fallen asleep?) and the nearly silent sound of Ivan’s breathes as he blew the smoke out in various interesting ways.

Matthew’s voice ended the calm hush. “Do you think you could show me?”

Ivan lifted his head from it’s perch resting against the back of the chair. “What?”

Matthew cleared his throat nervously. “Would it bother you if I went with you on your next hunt? You know, to see your process in-person?”

The Russian man’s face lit up and he pushed himself to lean forward. “Of course, Matvey. I would be honored.”

Alfred twitched at the man’s use of his brother’s nickname. No one called Matthew that but him. Ivan was beginning to drag on his last nerve, but the last thing we wanted was for Matthew to get mad and “break up” with him again. It had taken him three months to get Matthew to even speak to him the last time, and he had no need to know how long it would take the next. All he wanted to do was punch the man square in the mouth, but instead he stood and excused himself to bed. Ivan offered up a little wave and Matthew nodded, and Alfred turned on his heel and stalked to his room to throw himself down onto the bed and fume.

“I’m sorry about him, he’s a little over-protective. He’s doing his ‘macho posturing’ thing, he’ll get over it in a few days. He did the same thing with Arthur.” Matthew explained, sipping his coffee

“Not a problem.” Ivan lifted his hand to stop the man’s apologies. “May I ask you something?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“I have read about it on the internet, but I have always wanted to know how you two got into this kind of thing in the first place.”

“It’s Alfred’s fault that we’ve been fugitives for so long. It sucks having no credit, I can’t even buy a car.” Matthew shook his head and sighed. “Well, I may as well give you the condensed version. The articles were pretty accurate, though.”

 

* * *

 

It was early spring, in a small town in upstate New York, not far from Tupper Lake. Matthew, thirteen, Alfred, fourteen, and their father; a Mr. Ron F Jones of minimum-wage days wasted down at the local gas station, all lived together in humble settings. It was a close-knit kind of place, where cashiers continued to pump customer’s gas and everyone knew everyone else’s name. Seasonal illness flew fast, and rumors flew faster through the elderly women who considered themselves the community’s most affluent members. The Jones family stayed in a small house on the edge of town just along the side of a large corn farm. It was humble, and a little ramshackle, but it was homey and inviting in a “mom and pop” sort of way. They had a large yard, kept cleanly trimmed by their father, that was flanked opposite the farm by a large clump of trees. They had an old swing set, a sandbox that had seen better years when the boys were younger, and a small inflatable children’s pool.

Life seemed easy to the boys, who only had to worry about traveling to school every weekday and helping out around the house with chores on weekends. Their father never spoke of their financial issues when he came home late every night and threw together a dinner of microwaveable meals. They would sit in the living room on their worn old canary yellow hand-me-down couch and watch Keenan and Kell as they ate and their father knocked back beer after beer. The days slid by with the slow calm that only a stagnant kind of comfort could provide. Days melded into nights and it was as if one could feel every minute as they carried them through the years of their lives.

Alfred and Matthew were both in the same grade. When Alfred was supposed to have started Kindergarten, he had flat-out refused to go without his brother. Once it had become clear that he would not be swayed, their father caved in and allowed the boy to wait a year before he was to be enrolled. The older boy had a fairly large group of friends, and spent much of his time attending after-school clubs.

Matthew had always been a shy child, avoiding his classmates religiously and preferring to spend his time alone beneath the trees of the playground during recess. When they were home, the boys were nearly inseparable. Alfred followed his brother around everywhere, carrying one-sided conversations and helping Matthew in any way he could. Matthew was too short to reach an apple in one of the trees that dotted their property, and Alfred was there to climb up and retrieve it for him. Matthew was tired of walking, Alfred would lift him up and carry him piggy-back to where ever they were going. Matthew wanted new books, Alfred took up a paper route.

He thought himself Matthew’s personal super hero.

They shared their home with a black and white cat of mixed breed, Cally. Alfred took the most care of the friendly animal, feeding and watering and brushing and changing her litter box whenever he found it unable to be scooped. Every Friday night was Horror Night, where they would sit down as a family and partake in a few horror flicks that Ron had rented on his way home from work. Alfred would more often than not end up crying part-way through the film, then wake up shrieking in the night. Often times, Alfred would creep into Matthew’s room in the middle of the night and slip into his bed. Matthew had asked him a thousand times why he did not just ask to have the film genre changed to something else, but Alfred would always insist that he had to watch them for some vague and convoluted reason.

Every now and then, Matthew would disappear for a few hours. Alfred would search all about the house for him, and finally give up to watch cartoons. Matthew would always reappear in about two hours, just showing up behind Alfred like a ghost and announcing something along the lines of dinner being ready or requesting something. As time went on and Matthew consistently refused to tell him where he was going, Alfred followed him out into the small woods, ducking and dodging excessively as he pretended that he was a spy. Matthew wandered through a small footpath, talking to himself quietly (he was one to think aloud, and Alfred constantly told his that it made him look crazy) about what he planned on doing for his science project. A volcano or a diorama of the universe?

 _How generic, please grow some creativity, Mattie._ Was one of the thoughts that had crossed Alfred’s mind.

He came upon a small clearing that shielded a large rock sitting in the shade and a small stake pounded deeply into the ground. A dog was tethered to the pole by a short leash, and Alfred recognized it immediately. She was a scraggily stray bitch from town; Everyone called her Shep, and no one knew why. The townsfolk treated her well, feeding her scraps and happily petting her on the sidewalks. She had a little plastic bowl full with water nearby, and wagged her tail happily when she saw Matthew.

He smiled and patted her head as he walked past to set his school backpack on the rock. She bounced happily when he came back to her, wagging frantically and lapping at his hands. He told her to “stay down” and pushed her away lightly, then sat down on the ground beside her. She sat down and he pulled a little plastic bag from his pocket: miniature sausages. He sat there and fed her, commanding an impressive repertoire of tricks before he rewarded her.

“These are your favorite treats, right?” He asked her, smiling as he motioned for her to roll over and she obeyed. “And I know what all tricks you can do.”

He had her stand, and then hop in a full circle before he offered the little bit of meat. “And I know your name, and I know your smell. How tall, how heavy…” He fell silent and Alfred wondered why anyone would care to know so much about a dirty stray dog. Clearly he had been keeping the beast in secret, since Alfred was positive that their father would never agree to take on another pet. It was hard enough to convince him to get Cally.

He had her sit and set the treats aside. He reached out and pushed his index finger into her mouth and ran it over the sharp bumps of her teeth and smooth heat of her gums, then past her nearly closed molars and onto her tongue. She looked around and twitched her ears at the sounds of small animals scurrying through the underbrush, uncaring of her mouth’s invasion. Matthew scooted closer to her on his butt, and leaned forward to rest his forehead on her shoulder as his finger continued to explore her wet maw. It was soft and rolling and so hot. Wet and inviting, yet unattainable for the sharp teeth.

Alfred sunk down to his knees, still peeking from behind a thick tree. He was absolutely perplexed as to why his brother seemed to enjoy poking a dog in the mouth so much. How much fun could it be, really? Matthew slowly extracted his finger and wiped the saliva on the dog’s fur, then pulled her into a loose hug. He nuzzled his face in her dark fur and pulled away. He made a little twirling motion with his fingers and she rolled over onto her back, looking at the treat bag expectantly. He crawled over her on his hands and knees and just looked her over for a good thirty seconds. He lifted his right hand and slipped his index and middle fingers back into her mouth and rolled them about her tongue. He pulled them out and they glistened with her spit, then he reached down and tapped the pads of his moist digits against the spade that was her vagina.

Alfred’s mouth fell open and his eyes flew wide. _Ew! Gross, what the heck is that about Mattie?!_ He wanted to just walk away and pretend that he had never seen anything, but he was terrified that his brother would hear him trying to escape in the relative silence of the little woods. He wanted to turn around behind the tree and wait it out, but whatever was going on ensnared his attention and he could not force himself to tear his eyes away.

As Alfred wrestled with himself in silence, Matthew had just pushed his fingers inside. It was hot and so, so tight. A little upward arching bend, followed by a tight ring of smooth muscle that contracted deliciously when he rubbed her clit. He kneaded her soft inner walls slowly and gently, trying to loosen her up a bit. He didn’t want to hurt her, at least not like this. When she felt pliable enough he pulled his fingers from her and unbuttoned his jeans. He pulled them off, along with his red junior boxers, and tossed them aside. He rubbed her stomach a few times, then moved his hand down to the base of her underbelly and pushed lightly, gently massaging the soft flesh.

“C’mon,” He muttered, still pressing softly, “Hurry up or Ron’ll get worried and come looking for me.” Almost on cue, Shep wriggled a bit as a stream of urine flowed from her and onto the grassy earth. Matthew put his hand beneath the flow and caught some in his palm, and used it as a kind of impromptu lubricant. He aimed and pushed slowly inside of her and she wiggled a bit on the grass. She felt wonderful, wrapped so tightly around his juvenile dick, her insides twitching in feather-light waves as he began to move.

Alfred’s face was bright red as he reluctantly watched his younger brother thrust into the calm and decidedly uninterested animal with tiny moans slipping past his lips in random intervals. It was so wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong and he could barely think. This was what Matthew did when he wandered off? Come here and have S.E.X with a dog that was suffering unfortunate circumstances? When did he start? Why?! He shook his head vigorously, trying to clear his jumbled thoughts.

Matthew felt the familiar, yet still relatively new, sensation of imminent release building. He sped his thrusts, peeking down to watch himself slide in and out of her stretched sex. He shuddered and with a tiny hiss of breath emptied himself inside of her. He pushed in a few more times, riding the heightened sensitivity he experienced post-orgasm, before slowly pulling out. He held up a finger and commanded her to wait, and leaned over to take a little sausage from the bag. He sat back on his legs and watched as his spend dripped from her tender hole and slid across her fur to pool at the base of her tail. He gave her the treat and she took it daintily, then rolled over to snack it down then bend to the side and lick herself clean.

Matthew apologized to her for his short stay as he pulled his clothes back on and took up his bag, assuring her that he would be back the next day to make up for it. “Don’t worry, I’m not just using you or anything.” He said, “I really do like you. I meant it when I said I wanted to know everything about you.” He slung his bag over his shoulder and walked back toward their home.

Alfred waited for him to wander out of sight before he finally stood up and patted the pine needles from his rear and stretched out his sleeping legs. Pins and needles stabbed his calves mercilessly for a moment and he stood there, trying to massage them back to life. Once the pain had subsided, he started walking back toward his house, dwelling on the idea of setting the dog free, or telling their father, or (god forbid) confronting Matthew face-to-face on the decidedly odd behavior. Letting Shep go seemed like the best choice, but he feared that Matthew would somehow  know that he was the culprit. The idea of telling their father died almost as quickly as it was formed, the last thing he wanted was for Matthew to get into trouble. Needles, sticks, and leaves crunched quietly underfoot as he walked, trying to figure out his best choice for action.

By the time he got home, both Matthew and Ron were sitting in the living room sharing a bag of Lays chips and watching the news. Alfred stood in the doorway awkwardly for a moment, opening his mouth to speak before closing it again. Just out-right say “Hey Dad, Mattie was doing weird things in the woods.” There was no way he could say something like that so casually, so he just walked into the room and sat down on the floor opposite his brother. He cast him a glance out of the corner of his eye and watched him pop a chip into his mouth and chew it slowly before swallowing and quietly commenting on the current news story; something to do with school funding. Alfred looked at the TV but paid no attention to what the older gentleman on the screen was saying. After a few minutes, he excused himself to his room. Ron called out after him, reminding him of dinner, but he declined and wandered up to bed.

Matthew sat there a moment, tilting his head in thought. The only time Alfred declined food was when he was upset about something. He stood, told his father that he would be down when the meal was ready, and ascended the short flight of stairs to the second floor. Alfred’s room was on the right, just after the broom closet. Matthew knocked lightly twice before pushing the door out and flipping on the light. He closed the door behind himself and walked over to plop down at the foot of his brother’s bed.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, leaning back to look at his face. Alfred answered with a clipped “nothing” and buried his face in his pillow.

Matthew let his feet swing over the edge of the bed, still too short to touch the ground. He said nothing for a long while, then reached out to poke Alfred in the thigh softly. “Quit pouting, you big baby.”

“I’m not pouting, dick.”

“I’m gonna tell Ron you’re swearing.”

Alfred sat up in his bed and glared at his younger sibling. “You better not or I’ll beat you up.”

“Then come downstairs and eat.”

Alfred sat there a moment, fingering the hem of his nightshirt as he tried to ignore the groans his stomach was making and attempted for remember why he had thought missing out on a warm meal would make him feel better in the first place. As Matthew stood to leave, Alfred called out after him, “I‘ll be right down.”

Within a few minutes, Alfred had pulled on a pair of pajama pants and met them downstairs just in time for Rocko’s to start. They ate their dinner in relative silence, with their father interjecting something about his day at work every now and then.

Life went back to normal; the regular trips to and from school, laundry every Saturday night, dinner and cartoons. The only difference was that Alfred now followed Matthew off into the woods when he went, with no idea as to why. He found that his brother did not always do inappropriate things to Shep, and it actually occurred about two of every five or six times he went to see her. Normally he would just lean over the rock and work on his homework, or take Shep for a walk, or read. He would clean up after the dog and bury the leavings a ways away from the little clearing, and spend long hours teaching her new tricks. Once in a while he would discover another one that he had not known she could do, and always commented on knowing her all the more about her each time it happened.

On one sunny Tuesday evening,  Matthew was making his usual trek out through the woods and Alfred was once again following him. He had put a few leaves and sticks into his hair and rubbed dirt onto his cheeks; he was pretending to be on an army mission. Matthew entered the clearing, and as normal set his bag on the large, flat rock. He patted Shep on the head and reached into his bag to retrieve a massive knife.

Alfred recognized it from the shed out back of their house. What Matthew was doing with it he could only wonder. He watched as his brother sat by the dog and began to pet her. After a few minutes, he spoke. “I’m pretty sure I know everything about you now.”

The dog let out a long yawn and shook her head. Matthew scratched her behind the ear and she turned into it, clearly enjoying the treatment. “I like you a lot, Shep. Don’t forget that, okay?” He motioned for her to roll over, and she did. He ran his fingers lightly over her lightly furred stomach, and lifted the blade with his other hand. She wriggled ignorantly on the grass, tail wagging furiously as he continued to stroke her belly.

“Good girl, Shep.” He cooed, and brought his hand up to her throat and held her down. He thrust the knife as deeply as he could into her stomach, and a hard yank drug it down to her crotch. A wretched and half-choked squeak of a yelp escaped her throat and she began to thrash horribly. He dropped the knife onto the ground beside himself and thrust his hand up into her gaping abdomen to reach up into her chest and locate her heart, his tongue poking out in concentration. He leaned over her and stared directly into her panicked eyes as he began to squeeze the rapidly beating organ. Hot blood poured from the wound and her thrashing was causing her slick organs to fall loose into the grass as she panted and whined harshly. Her heart fluttered frantically in his hand as she died, before finally constricting powerfully and then falling loose and useless.

Alfred felt like he was going to die of fear and each little sound the dog made his skin crawl and stomach turn. Of all the things he had to come to expect of his brother, this was not one of them It was like one of the horror movies he felt so compelled to watch, but real. So real, and so… Exciting. The way she had thrashed in panic, the nearly obsessive look of concentration in his brother’s eyes, the horrible terror he felt of his sibling that very moment. He saw Matthew pull his hand from the beast’s chest and look at the wet red in interest, before reaching to unzip his jeans.

Alfred leaned against the tree and peeked out in morbid fascination, the slamming of his heart in his chest far more pleasurable than it should have been.

Matthew worked to pull his clothes off without getting any blood on them, which proved to be quite a feat. He finally managed, and crawled back up to the dead animal. He took some of her blood and used it to slick himself before slowly pushing into her and shuddered lightly as he did so. She was still hot and tight, somehow he had expected her to just suddenly turn cold. He was actually a little disappointed. As he pushed into her again and again, he let his hands explore her soft insides. Rope after rope of intestines, little pink kidneys and her dark liver. He pulled some out, pushed some aside, until he came to the smooth red-smeared whiteness of the walls of her vagina. He could see himself inside of her, up the wet walls, and to her small womb. It was a fairly long, forked thing. Not the round humanoid uterus that he had anticipated. He poked it softly, then ran his finger down it’s length. He wrapped his fist around the length of her vaginal canal and squeezed, stroking himself with her sex. It felt amazing.

Alfred had unbuttoned him pants to pull himself out into the open air, and was pumping himself in time with his brother’s pushes. It made him feel so wrong, and dirty, but he couldn’t seem to stop. Something about the look of rapture on his brother’s face, or the terror that hung heavily around him at the whole ordeal, or the experience of watching the dog fight for it’s life, completely unaware that it was already too late.

Whatever the reason, his mind was too busy shutting itself down as his excitement grew, and with a little moan he spilled his seed onto the ground. Panting, he moved to zip his pants and lost his footing, and fell a little ways forward but caught himself on the tree. His foot struck out and landed squarely on a small branch, that cracked like thunder in the quiet of the forest. Matthew stilled immediately and his head shot up. He scanned the woods with his eyes as he slowly pulled himself from Shep’s corpse. He scanned his surroundings for a moment before his gaze fell on Alfred, who was still peeking out from behind the tree.

They stayed there a moment, staring at one another in silence. Alfred could feel the fine hairs on the back of his neck and his arms stand up at the horror of being detected. Matthew looked as if he were about to have a heart attack, and when he opened his mouth to speak, Alfred spun and sprinted as hard as he could back to the house. He jumped over logs and dips, zigzagged through tall trees, and finally burst out into the yard breathing heavily. His mind was blanked by the sheer shock at being seen, and the horrible knowledge that he would have to look at his brother ever again. He was terribly embarrassed and totally at loss as to what to do.

He jogged up to the house, breathing hard from his frantic dash, and shuffled inside. He went straight to his room and shut the door and it locked with a little ‘click.’ Matthew made it back about half an hour later, stiff with the fear of having been caught. He stood outside the old screen door, staring at the peeling green paint and chicken wire screen while he awaited the enraged call of his name from his father inside. He stood there for ten minutes, and finally when the call failed to come, he slowly slipped inside. He saw Ron sipping a beer and watching the Price is Right with a dignified disinterest, then crept up the stairs to eye Alfred’s door for a moment. Well, he hadn’t said anything yet, which was good.

He walked to the door and lifted his hand to knock, but then let it drop at his side. There was nothing he wanted less than to talk to Alfred at that moment. A thick and awkward aura filled the air, and he eventually decided to retreat to his own room and try to sleep. He took up some pajamas and stepped into the bathroom, locking the door behind himself. He peeled his clothes off and ducked into the soothing spray to wash the remaining blood and dirt from his body. He was tired from burying her, so he only stayed in for a short while and climbed out with a heavy yawn. All of the excitement in the world couldn’t keep him up after the strain of such an eventful day, so he laid down in his bed and drifted off to sleep.

Alfred, on the other hand, spent most of the night fretting about the situation until he finally, exhausted, fell into a troubled slumber. He dreamt of Matthew up in some far-off place, asking for various things; sometimes money, or food, or help with some bullies. He would just sit there, unattainable, legs and arms crossed with that deceptively soft expression. Alfred wanted to help, but he found himself unable to find a way up to where his brother was. He woke up throughout the night, perplexed by the strangeness of his thoughts. He fell asleep one last time, and did not dream.

He awoke to the sound of his father knocking on his door and the searing light of early morning stabbing his eyes through a small slit in his navy blue curtains. He rubbed his eyes and squinted into the bright rays, calling out to his dad that he was, in fact, awake. Yes, he was aware that there was school that day. He pushed the blanket from his body and rolled up to a sit to stretch. He yawned lightly, scratched his side, and stood to walk to his dresser and rummage about for something to wear. He considered making time for a short shower, but realized that he would have to forgo breakfast to be ready for when the bus came, so he decided against it. He could always get in after school, so he grabbed his bag and went bounding down the stairs and landed in the living room with a loud ‘thump.’ He turned his head and saw Matthew, totally ready for the day (as usual, he was always up long before Alfred) and playing with Cally. Before he had a moment to even think about it, he dashed across the room and snatched the animal away, pressing her to his chest and glaring harshly at his brother.

“Hey! Give ‘er back, Alfred!” He whined, returning the glare with dangerous force.

Alfred shook his head vigorously, taking a step back and squeezing the cat tighter. “No, you’ll get all weird with her!”

Matthew’s eyes went wide for a moment, then he turned his face away and blushed red. “Why were you out there?” He mumbled through the little shade of hair that obscured his features.

“I was following you.” Alfred said, and cried out softly when the irritated cat struggled to get out of his arms and scratched him. He dropped her onto the floor and she bolted away down into the basement.

“Why would you follow me?” Matthew asked, looking up into Alfred’s eyes.

“I don’t know.”

“I never did it before. Promise you won’t tell Ron and I’ll never do it again.”

“Mean it?”

Matthew nodded, his face pale and gaze troubled. He seemed to sink into himself of the lumpy old couch, balling his hands into little fists pulling his arms in close to his body. Alfred thought it over for a moment, then nodded back. “Deal.”

Once again, life regained some semblance of normalcy. Days turned into weeks, which melted into months. One Friday night in June, Alfred found himself terribly shaken after watching the horror that was Hellraiser: Bloodline. He lay in his bed, listening to the shrieking of wind outside of his window and imagining monstrous hell-beasts crawling up from under his bed. Finally unable to stand it any longer, he collected his pillow into his arms and shuffled quickly to Matthew’s room. He slid into his brother’s bed and curled up beneath the blankets, pressed up against his bare back.

Matthew blinked his eyes open as he slowly awoke, then looked around himself a bit before realizing that Alfred was next to him. “Aren’t you too old for this kinda thing?” He asked groggily, scratching his chin.

“Shut up.” He was glad that Matthew had awoken, but he would be damned it he would ever tell him that. He scooted up closer to him, trying to curl up into the smallest ball he could muster.

“It’s just a movie.”

“So? It’s supposed to be scary, stupid.”

Matthew rolled over and pulled him into a somewhat stiff hug. “Don’t start freaking out in your sleep again, you kicked me in the stomach last time.”

Alfred relaxed a bit and stretched his legs out, having someone else nearby making him feel far more secure. He let his eyes fall shut and snuggled closer to his brother to sleep when something poked him in the stomach. _What the heck?_ He thought, reaching down to figure out what it was. Matthew yelped and pulled away when his fingers touched it, and all at once Alfred knew what it was.

“Dude!” He squeaked, pushing back as far as he could without falling from the mattress.

“Shut up, it just happens when I’m sleeping sometimes!” Matthew snapped, rolling back over and pulling blanket up over his head.

Alfred lay there a moment, saying nothing, before he scooted closer and poked Matthew on the shoulder to get his attention. For a long while Matthew said nothing, then turned his head to look at his brother. “Yeah?”

He searched for words for a moment, opening and closing his mouth before he realized that he probably looked like a fish and stopped. He flitted his bright blue eyes up to meet his brother’s purple ones, then dropped his gaze down to watch his chin. “I, um… I… c-can I touch you?”

Matthew raised an eyebrow.

“Down there?” Alfred made a little pointing motion toward the other boy’s crotch. Matthew spun around and stared at him for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing in disbelief.

“Why?”

“I was just thinking about before, when you… When you stabbed Shep, how you looked like you really liked it when you were… Doing stuff.” Alfred managed to choke out through his trembling, dry lips. “I guess I just wanted to see it again?”

“That’s stupid.” Matthew stated flatly, and Alfred’s blush climbed up to tint his ears. After a moment of watching his brother sputter uselessly, Matthew took hold of his hand and pulled it down between them to rest on the rise of his pajama pants. “Go ahead, if you just have to.”

Alfred stayed still a moment, unable to think of what to do with the warm firmness resting gently in his hand, before he decided that the best course of action was to stroke it lightly. Matthew’s finger twitched slightly and he let out a soft moan, rubbing himself against Alfred’s hand. He ran his fingers over it a few times before gathering up enough courage to dip his hand past the elastic of his little brother’s pajamas.

He wrapped his fingers around the younger boy’s childish member and squeezed, watching every minute change of expression Matthew made. His large eyes were glazed and half-lidded and his breaths came out in tiny pants as he thrust up into Alfred’s warm hand. Alfred thought back to his father’s porn magazines he had seen so long ago (they now seemed dull and drab in comparison to the feeling of his beloved little brother quivering against him) and remembered seeing the women commonly putting the men’s penises into their mouths. He thought about it a moment, knowing it where pee came from, and licked his lips in a nervous and slightly disgusted show of apprehension.

He used his free hand to push Matthew’s pants out of the way and wriggled down into the sheets, until he was entirely in the dark of the blankets. He stuck out his tongue and hesitantly touched it to the tip. It didn’t taste like anything, really, and smelled of soap. He let out a relieved little sigh and licked it again, this time slower with his tongue flat. Matthew took in a little hiss of breath and writhed his legs lightly at the new sensation. Alfred was a little awkward, clumsy and hesitant in his novice technique, but to Matthew it was one of the best things he had ever experienced. Just behind gutting the dog that he had nurtured and trained. He covered his mouth with his hand to muffle the already tiny gasps he made, taking hold of Alfred’s hair with no idea as to why.

Using both hands to push Alfred’s mouth further onto the entire length of his boyhood, Matthew came with a small shudder. Alfred made a choking, sputtering noise at the sudden intrusion in his mouth, and pushed away. He made a disgusted face and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

“Gross! You should’a told me before the stuff came out.” He stuck his finger into his mouth and pretended to gag. The boys sat up on their knees and stared at one another for a moment, before Matthew looked away to the bed and spoke up.

“I’ll do you now.”

Alfred was taken aback, and muttered something along the lines of “If you have to.”

Matthew leaned down on all fours before his brother and eyed his crotch for a moment. He reached into the little flap in Alfred’s briefs and pulled out his member, quietly scrutinizing it. “It looks like mine.”

“Well it’s not like they’re all different shapes or anything. What did you expect, a purple rectangle?” He was bright red, nervous and heart fluttering, so he diverted his eyes and told his brother to hurry.

Matthew took the base in his hand for better control and slipped it into his mouth. In an attempt to mimic what his brother did, he bobbed his head up and down, trying to find a rhythm. Every now and then his teeth would scrape along the hot flesh and Alfred would let out a hissing little moan, twitching his hips further toward the heat. It hurt, but there was a strange pleasure to be had in the physical sensation. The very notion that Matthew; Object of a Thousand Crossing and Convoluted Emotions, was doing what he was doing far surpassed any discomfort. He would build up a kind of pain as his teeth grazed lightly over the head of Alfred’s dick, yet immediately remedy it with the soft bliss of his warm tongue and lips. It caused Alfred to radiate with both shame and another deep-seeded and unfathomable emotion he would not come to understand for another two years.

With a loud cry, having been only accustomed to the newly acquired pass-time of his hand, he pulled back and came, the slick substance shooting out across his brother’s mouth and cheeks. Matthew made and disgusted face and backed away, arms up as if to fend off attack.

“Gross, Alfred!” He yelled, jumping from the bed and snatching an old towel from the hamper to wipe his face. The older boy apologized profusely, claiming that he had not meant to get any of it on him, it just kind of happened. They argued back and forth for a moment, until their father yelled at them from the other room to go to sleep. They put aside their petty disagreement, got dressed, and climbed into bed.

A few months later, Alfred and Matthew climbed off of the bus together, arguing back and forth about the weekend’s chores. Who would do the dishes? Who would wash the walls? Alfred refused to polish anything, be it wood or metal, and his brother insisted that he was the one who had done it last. They traded rude words back and forth until, in a huff of anger, Alfred hit Matthew over the head with his backpack. He saw the look in his brother’s eyes, turned, and ran back to the house while trying to formulate some excuse as to why he should not find himself in trouble when Matthew told their father. Which he was sure to do.

And Alfred didn’t want to get his Playstation taken away again.

He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, knowing Matthew less than blessed in the field of athletics, and came bursting through the front door with a loud “He’s lying! I did not!” Silence answered him, and he looked around himself and saw no one. There was a note on the fridge, attached by an old moose magnet, which upon closer inspection read:

 

_Sorry, boys, I’ll be home a little late tonight. Microwave yourselves something to eat and don’t wait up for me. We’ll have to move Movie Night to tomorrow, sorry Alfred I know you were looking forward to Scream. I’ll get a whole mess of movies on my way home to make up for it._

_Matthew, make sure your brother does the dusting and shining this time. And be sure he showers, if he doesn’t don’t let him have any of the ice cream bars. Don’t try to cook anything on the stove or you’ll burn the house down. Love you, boys. Remember to lock up before bed._

 

Alfred crumpled up the note and threw it in the trash. The less his brother knew about what delicious food-stuffs to withhold and why, the better. Just then Matthew burst through the door, flush and panting. “Dad! Alfred hit me!”

“He’s not gonna be home ‘til late.” Alfred informed him, pulling open the freezer and retrieving an ice cream bar. “He said you’re supposed to do the dusting and shining today.”

“That’s not even fair!” Matthew groaned, dropping his backpack on the floor and yanking the door shut behind himself. He passed his shoes over the entry rug a few times before stalking into the living room, dipping his hand into the case of Coke on his way. He went into the room and plopped down in front of the couch, leaning his back on it, and flipped on the TV. A Simpsons rerun.

Alfred wandered into the room, biting his ice cream, and flopped down on the couch beside his brother. “We’re having a movie marathon tomorrow.”

Matthew nodded, and they watched a few cartoons before they got started on their homework (the younger insisted quietly heavily upon this) and afterwards started their chores. Alfred washed the dishes and swept while Matthew dusted, both deciding to hold off on the windows and walls to see if they could get away with skipping them for that week. Once they were done and quite famished, they got into a paper, rock, scissors battle to see who would be tasked with preparing their dinner. Matthew was losing five to one, but he just cast his brother the soft, pleading look he had perfected over the years and requested that Alfred cook.

And so he found himself in the living room, playing a game of Actua Ice Hockey 2, while Alfred wandered about in the kitchen with the food. The familiar _beep beep beep_ of the microwave announced food, so Matthew slapped the ‘power’ button and changed the television’s input. Alfred walked in, balancing the hot little plastic trays with a small grimace at the warm discomfort they exuded against his forearms, and took his usual spot on the couch. He handed one tray, and a fork, to his brother and they ate over Pokemon commercials and the comedic styling’s of All That.

Their father was usually home by five o’ clock, but when he worked late he had the chance of finding himself home anywhere between ten at night and two in the morning. Depending on how many payrolls he had to scuffle through and how well the high school kids he was the assistant manager for cleaned the station, that was. Alfred and Matthew finished their dinner and sat for a moment in silence, and a quick meeting of the eye expressed a decision that was too embarrassing for them both to be spoken aloud. They dropped their empty off-brand Chicken Fajita instant meal trays into the garbage and bounded up the stairs, already starting an argument about who was going first.

Things had a way of becoming routine after a few weeks, regardless of the circumstances.

Matthew shut the door behind himself, uncaring to lock it since they were alone, and kicked off his shoes. Alfred ran over to the bed and threw himself onto it, grinning as he bounced a few times like an aggravated fish. He sat up, legs crossed, and timidly met his brother’s eyes. “I wanna go first.”

“Heck no you wont.” Matthew huffed as he crossed the room to push Alfred over onto his back. He began to unbutton the boy’s blue polyester shirt, fumbling with the tiny plastic circles every now and then. Alfred leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. When he leaned in for the mouth, Matthew quickly turned his head and the corners of his lips twitched in a half-hidden scowl.

“You wanna try something?” He asked, pushing Alfred back down slowly.

“What?”

“Can I put my thing in you?”

Alfred stared for a moment, then twisted his face in a confused expression. “Where the heck would you put it?!”

“In…” He turned away, too embarrassed to meet his brother’s eyes, and blurted it out in a barely audible mumble. “In your butt.”

“Ew, that’s gross! No! Why would you want to put _anything_ in my butt?!”

“Well, you don’t have lady-parts, so where else would I put it?” Matthew asked, tilting his head slightly. Alfred looked up at him with a rather disapproving expression, so he added, “Let me do it and I’ll let you kiss me on the mouth.”

Alfred thought for a moment, weighing pros and cons, before he finally gave a tiny nod and turned his eyes away. He slowly let his knees fall away from one another, spreading his legs without any real idea of how to go about it all, and lifted his forearms up to block the majority of his face from his brother’s view. “Just get on with it then.”

Matthew took hold of the older boy’s jeans and pulled them down with some difficulty before he spoke. “Do you have anything I could use to get it wet?”

“Why would I have something like that?” Alfred murmured, peeking from between his arms.

“Well you’re older than me, I assumed you did that kind of stuff by now.” He made a kind of pumping motion with his hand.

Alfred cast him a glare and pointed across the room to his desk without a word. Matthew went to it and after a bit of rummaging through drawers found a little bottle of lotion. When he came back they went about a rather awkward shuffling to try and figure how it was all going to work, with a few less than kind words tossed back and forth, before Alfred wound up on his back with his legs spread and Matthew hovered over him.

“So… Do you just stick it in?” Alfred asked, embarrassed at the position he was in.

“Probably.” Matthew pushed Alfred’s legs a little further apart and took a moment to find a comfortable place to settle in before he went about trying to aim.

“Hang on a sec, you said you would… Ya know, on the mouth?” Alfred piped up, earning himself an exasperated eye roll.

“Fine.” The younger boy leaned forward over him, and just as their lips brushed the bedroom door was pushed in and their father came hurrying into the room.

“It was hard to fandangle, but I managed to get all of my stuff done nearly on ti-” He stood there a moment, clearly trying to process the scene, before he cleared his throat loudly. “If I say anything about this now I’m viable to get very, very angry. I suggest you go to your room, Matthew, _right now_.”

The boys disentangled themselves from one another, struck silent in the shock of being caught. Alfred silently slipped beneath his blanket and all but peeked out at his father. Matthew silently slipped back into his pants and abruptly stood and rushed past their father and down the hall to his own room. Ron instructed Alfred to stay in bed, and followed the other boy to his room.

When they were both inside he instructed Matthew to sit down. He paced back and forth a few times, let out a long and drawn-out sight, then finally turned to his son to speak. “I know… I know you boys are going through pu… Ah god damn it… Puberty and all of that, but there are just some things I can’t have you doing.”

Matthew sat silently, starving at his hands with his face burning red. Ron tapped the side of his thigh a few times with an antsy little movement before he let out another one of his tired-sounding sighs and went to the bed to sit down. “Like I said, you can’t be up to those types of things, so I’m going to call Grandma Gertrude tomorrow and see if she can hang on to you for a while. I know you’re younger, but you’re a little more put-together than your brother so I feel like you could handle it better. You’re a good boy, Mattie, and I’ll have her send you back when you boys are a little older and know a bit more ‘right’ from ‘wrong.’”

With that, he bid the boy goodnight and made his way to his own room with an awkwardly given rule that they stay in their respective rooms all night.

Alfred lay beneath his blankets for the next two hours, curled up into a tightly squeezed embarrassed little ball. _I’m in so much trouble_ , he thought in alarm repetition, rolling this way and that in his little wool cocoon. After a long while, he heard the familiar creak of his door being opened and popped his head o0ut into his room’s relatively cool air.

Matthew slipped in, next to silent, and crept up to his bed. “Are you awake?”

“I’m looking right at you.” Alfred whispered at him, watching the younger boy grope about in the darkness.

“My night vision is terrible.” He grumbled, kneeling up against Alfred’s bed to whisper as quietly as possible. “Ron said he’s gonna send me to live with Gertrude in Canada.”

“Why Grandma?”

“She’s far away, obviously. Think about that, Alfred. I’d be all the way in _Canada_. You’ll never see me again. He said he‘ll send me there and I can never come back.”

When Alfred frowned at the idea, Matthew nodded reassuringly. “He wont listen if you just talk to him, trust me I tried. You need to do something about it.”

“Like what?” The older sibling asked, sitting up and tilting further to look at his brother.

“Hold out your hands.” Matthew instructed, and as soon as Alfred did he leaned forward and planted a soft, if not somewhat stiff, kiss on his brother’s lips as he reached into the side of his jeans and produced a hammer. He dropped it into Alfred’s hands while calm violet eyes looked into wide blue ones, then pulled away just enough to talk.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

 

* * *

 

Matthew cleared his throat, looking down at his empty mug. “I ran out of coffee, I’m gonna go get more. You want a refill?” He asked Ivan, standing up and taking both of the used cups. Ivan shook his head and Matthew cast a little polite smile.

“I’ll get back to this when I’m done rinsing these out. Feel free to use the toilet while I’m in here.” He called behind himself as he made his way into the kitchen. Once again, Ivan declined.

He tilted his head back and watched Matthew disappear into the other room before he rearranged the way he was sitting a little. He smiled a little to himself as he reached into his pocket to fish out another cigarette. These men, the so-called Skin Brothers, were far more enjoyable than he could have hoped for. The younger was attractive in a ‘cute’ kind of way, while the older was so easily excited it was more than fun to keep him on edge.

 _It is good I did not kill them._ He thought to himself as his lighter flared for a moment and illuminated the room with its soft glow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Axis Powers: Hetalia, Candy Land, Keenan and Kell, Lays, Transformers, Superman, the Price is Right, Hellraiser, Playstation, Coke a Cola, the Simpsons, Actua Ice Hockey, Pokemon, or All That. This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to the lives of any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. I make no money from the writing of this fan-made product.
> 
> Ah yes, murderous children. They're a rare treat in the world. Have you heard about the most recent case with those two 12yos who tried to kill their friend for Slenderman? So anyway, get prepared for MORE SLURS THAN EVER BEFORE because I didn't notice until now but they really pick up from about this point on. I would say to advert your eyes if you're sensitive to that kind of thing but I'm assuming anyone too soft would have stopped reading by about halfway through this chapter anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

 

 

 

When Matthew returned, he set a glass of water on the floor beside Ivan before taking his own seat with a fresh mug of coffee in hand. “I know you said you didn’t want anything, but I’d hate to be rude.”

“Not a problem.” Ivan reassured him, smiling gently as he flicked his cigarette ash into an empty can that had been sitting nearby. Both men lapsed into an easy silence; Matthew slowly nursing his hot drink and Ivan leaning in the old chair comfortably while taking slow drags from his cigarette. Ivan let his eyes travel over his host; soft-looking curled blonde hair, by no means unattractive, irises the same rare shade as his own. Too pale, it reminded him of his homeland, and a little too thin for his tastes. Smooth features, though. Young, looked soft, well groomed.

The Russian pulled another cigarette from his pack and replaced the dimly glowing butt in his mouth, using the dying ember from the old tube to light the new one as his eyes flicked toward the hall that presumably lead to Alfred’s bedroom. The older brother was rather enticing. His bright blue eyes, lightly sun-kissed skin, slightly thicker than Matthew, that confrontational attitude. Ivan cracked a light smile at the idea of breaking that defiant nature and how he would sound begging like a common whore for more, more, more.

He chuckled lightly at the idea. Yes, he was going to make _that_ happen.

Matthew set his mug aside, “I suppose I should continue from where I left off?”

“Da, I am most curious to hear more.”

“Alright. Well, where was I…? Oh, right! Well you see….”

 

* * *

 

Alfred found himself standing in his father’s room with only the murky moonlight that seeped in through the thin white curtains and the glow of the red numbers on the alarm clock for him to see by. He fiddled with the hammer in his hands, which felt heavier with each passing moment, his lips dry with trepidation. Finally, he took a long, deep breath and moved to the side of the bed. Ron was sleeping soundly, the fatigue of many long days of overtime and unfulfilling labor making it impossible for even a scene like he had walked in on enough to keep him awake.

Alfred climbed up onto the bed as quietly as possible, wincing as the old mattress groaned under the added weight. Ron didn’t stir, so he slowly, carefully, straddled the man’s hips and looked down at him. Ron mumbled something and frowned at the slight pressure before his eyes cracked open. The dark blue orbs met light ones, and blinked in hazy, sleep-addled confusion.

The boy lifted the hammer over his head slowly, “I wont let you send Mattie away.” He muttered under his breath, steeling his resolve.

“Al, why are you-” His voice was a freshly woken croak. Before he could finish the sentence, Alfred squeezed his eyes shut and swung the hammer down, flinching at the splintering crack of metal meeting skull.

To the boy’s horror, instead of instantly dying like he had imagined would happen, Ron let out a shocked wail and threw his hands up to cover his wounded face. Alfred brought the hammer down again, and again, and again, becoming increasingly frustrated as the older man refused to stop thrashing around and screaming. It felt like it took ages for the loud wails to finally calm into long, gurgled moans and his movements finally tapered off into tiny twitches and jerks.

Panting heavily at the unexpected amount of work, Alfred set the hammer beside his bleeding father and slipped off onto the floor. Somehow, he had expected to feel more upset about the whole thing. Guilty, maybe. But all he felt was a strong relief. He stood there a moment, watching Ron’s fingertips twitch from time to time and letting his gaze trail over the smashed mix of dark blood and bone that had been his face before he turned and exited the room. Matthew was waiting in the hall, leaning nonchalantly against the wall. He turned when Alfred approached and raised an eyebrow.

“That was a lot of work.” Alfred stated, wiping his bloody hands on his pajama pants. “But you wont need to leave now, right?”

“He never got a chance to call anyone, so I don’t see why I would. Wanna get an ice cream?”

Both boys clomped loudly down the stairs and into the kitchen. As Alfred went about rinsing the red from his hands before digging in the freezer, Matthew walked over to the table and noticed a stack of video tapes from the local Blockbuster. At least double the usual amount, each and every film something Alfred and Matthew had been requesting to see from the “new releases” aisle that was normally too expensive for them to consider looking into.

“Ah man, dad got popcorn?!” Alfred exclaimed, noticing the little microwavable bags atop the table. Normally popcorn was restricted to special occasions since it was deemed an unnecessary expense.

“Must have felt bad about cancelling movie night.” Matthew said, looking through the titles. When Alfred offered him an ice cream bar he took it with a little half-distracted “thank you” and picked a movie.

“Want to watch this one?”

They spent the night burning through film after film and snacking on all of the things that they were normally forbidden to eat without their father’s strict go-ahead, and went to bed well after their designated bed time. When they finally did decide to turn in, they went together, intent on concluding the previous day’s interrupted activities.

The next day they woke up well past noon. Alfred rubbed sleep from his eyes in confusion. He couldn’t remember the last time they had been allowed to sleep in so late on the weekend, with chores that needed to be done and- Suddenly everything snapped back into place and he let out a contented little sigh. If he had known life would be this carefree without Ron, he would have killed him long ago. Matthew stirred beside him, yawning loudly.

They ate TV dinners and Alfred helped himself to the stash of candy that was always put away for reward when he and his brother did something above and beyond their call of chore duty, and they spent the better part of the day playing video games and watching TV. When the sun was setting on the horizon, Matthew suggested that they do their homework, an idea which Alfred struck down with the most condescending of tones. The younger boy just rolled his eyes and went about finishing a math worksheet.

At around noon Sunday, Alfred awoke with a grimace. A rank smell, like that of old meat left out on the counter for too long and maybe sewage, flirted at the edge of his nose. It was a mild, almost ethereal scent that somehow still managed to make his stomach turn. He shook Matthew awake, covering his own mouth and nose with his hand.

“Dude, what’s that smell?” He demanded when his little brother finally stirred.

Matthew grumbled groggily and sat up, sniffing. “Smells like something rotting.” He hopped out of bed and padded out into the hallway, Alfred trailing behind, and stopped outside of their father’s room.

“I thought so. It’s been pretty hot out and I don’t think the window was open…” He spun around to look at Alfred, “Help me move him.”

“But it smells!”

“Either we move him or it just gets worse.” Matthew pointed out, trying to push the door open. He frowned when it slid open a crack and bumped into something. A couple of hard shoves moved whatever it was that was in the way, and the sharp stink of fresh putrefaction wafted out into the hallway like a wall. Alfred gagged, clapping both hands over his mouth and nose. Matthew just grimaced and walked inside.

The room was dark and stuffy. It had never had good ventilation so the air was suffocating and stagnant. The small amount of light that filtered in through the curtains cast an eerie glow across the bed, empty but for a large dark bloodstain that streaked down over the side and across the hard wood floor. Apparently, Ron had enough life in him to try and crawl for help; his corpse had been what was blocking the door.

“Gross.” Alfred muttered past his hand, peeking in over Matthew’s shoulder at the body crumpled on the old floor.

“Help me or he’ll just get worse in this heat.” Matthew instructed, tip-toeing over the thick, congealed blood to take one of his father’s cold feet in his hands. He beckoned to Alfred, who unhappily took the other leg, and together they struggled Ron out into the hall and down the stairs. His head bounced on the steps with wet thumps as they slowly maneuvered him to the first floor and to the basement door.

Alfred dropped the ankle he was holding and pulled the basement door open, and was actually relieved at the cool, moist gust of mildew-scented air that wafted out at him. Anything was better than the stench of decay. “Cally!” He called down the dark drop of steps, squinting his eyes uselessly against the dark. A soft meow answered him and up came the cat. Alfred scooped her up and tossed her off into the kitchen before he turned back to Matthew, awaiting instructions.

“Let’s just roll him down there.” The younger boy said, dropping the leg he was holding. Using their feet, they gave him a hard kick toward the stairs, where he slid through the doorway waist first. Gravity took over and his went tumbling down into the dark just before Matthew pushed the door shut.

As he walked into the kitchen to grab a towel, he turned back to Alfred. “Go get the mop ready, if we don’t clean up this blood the smell will stay.”

 

* * *

 

Like any children suddenly left alone, the boys took full advantage of their lack of rules over the following few days. All nights were late, all mornings an excuse to sleep in. Chores went neglected as fun held priority over dull tasks, and school often went unattended by Alfred, who insisted that it was a waste of time.

As time went on they began to notice a terrible happening. The first thing to run out was Cally’s litter, which Alfred remedied with dirt from outside (all the while refusing his brother’s demands to get rid of the feline). Snacks quickly disappeared, flavored drinks dried up. Toiletries, once barely considered as a limited luxury, began to run out. During all of this, starting Monday afternoon, came the incessant calls of the local gas station. For the first two days, Ron was sick. After that excuse had run dry, he happened to be out every time the manager called. As work calls increased, soon came calls from the school about Alfred’s truancy.

Alfred was all nerves, constantly worrying that someone would come and find out what he did. They would come and take him away; away from his home and his cat and his brother. After a while he began answering the phone specifically to slam it back down on the cradle. Maybe they would just go away? On top of the calls, on top of the rapidly depleting necessities, reigning high over the impending day when their water and power would be shut off, was the _smell_.

Matthew had tucked a few towels against the crack at the base of the basement door, but they were only a temporary fix. Soon, the stench had worked it’s way past the fabric and began polluting the hall. Alfred reinforced the spot with duct tape, sticking long pieces all around the doorway. When that proved to be too little, he taped towels all across the door, and covered it all in a thick blanket.

That had worked for a short while. Soon the smell, as if it were seeking him out in vengeance, began seeping up through the ventilation ducts, the floors, even the plumbing. Matthew insisted that he must have been imagining things, as he didn’t smell anything at all, but Alfred knew that it was very real.

It was ten o’ clock Tuesday when the manager of the gas station pulled into their driveway in his shiny powder blue Honda Accord with windows cracked and belching Sublime’s What I Got mixed with thick cigarette smoke. He parked, killed the engine, and stepped out into the harsh sunlight.

Scuffed brown shoes crunched over the gravel driveway as he approached the house, eyebrows furrowed and eyes squinted even behind his large sunglasses. Matthew peeked out the living room blinds, chewing his bottom lip in thought. Behind him, Alfred felt the horror of discovery wash over him and his stomach turned.

“What are we gonna do?” He whispered hoarsely.

Matthew turned slightly to look at him and grimaced. “You’re all sweaty and shaky, you’ll give it away like nothing. Go upstairs and do something, I’ll handle this.”

“B-but what about that smell? There’s no mistaking what that is!” Alfred demanded.

“I keep telling you, there is no smell! We even had all the windows and doors open all yesterday to air it out. You’re just freaking out. Now go upstairs.”

Three loud raps on the front door caused both boys to jump, and Matthew waved Alfred away before going to answer the summons. He rested his hand on the knob, took a deep breath to steady himself, and pulled it open.

The manager, Mr. Black if Matthew remember correctly, blocked the sunlight and cast a long shadow into the house. He removed his shades, reveling muddy brown eyes and a thick, full brow. Black hair short and a little scruffy, a long European nose, thin harsh lips, and the skin of a long-time smoker. He folded his shades and hung them from the front pocket of his brown blazer before he spoke.

“Is your dad home?” His voice was gruff and deep, with a thick Brooklyn accent.

“He went to the store.”

“Ain’t that his car?” Mr. Black asked, turning his body slightly to motion toward their old Chevy parked in it’s usual spot.

Matthew bit his tongue for a second, angry with himself for the foolish slip-up, before answering. “It broke down so he had to get a ride with someone.”

The tall man looked past Matthew and into the shady house, flicking his cigarette butt out onto the shaggy lawn. “Is that so? Well, a shopping trip can’t take too long. I’ll wait here for him.”

When he tried to take a step inside, Matthew moved to block him. “Well, he only just left so he might be gone for a long while. I can tell him you came over though.”

“I can wait.” Mr. Black stated flatly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a soft pack of menthol Seneca cigarettes and dipping a fingers inside. The cheap tobacco was about halfway out from the pack when a loud blast erupted from outside and a burst of red exploded out from the man‘s chest.

Matthew and the man stared at one another, eyes wide with shock, before Mr. Black let the battered old pack slip from his fingers and hit the ground just seconds before his legs gave out and he dropped to his knees with a thud. A low, rumbling gurgle sounded from his lips, accompanied by a dark stream of blood. Behind him stood Alfred, mouth agape and high-powered hunting rifle in his hands that ached from the gun’s kick.

Matthew jumped when Mr. Black dropped to the side, stone dead. “You-”

“He was gonna come in and find out!” Alfred protested, dropping the gun to the ground and rubbing his sore shoulder.

The younger boy used his sleeve to wipe as much of the spattered blood from his face as he could before he continued. “You could have **shot me**!”

“I aimed up!”

“I thought you went upstairs….”

“I went by the back door. But come on, he was gonna come in and find out, I had to do something, so I went got one of dad’s guns and-”

Matthew shook his head slowly, turning around and walking into the living room. “My ears are ringing.” He went to the couch and sat, pursing his lips in thought. Alfred stood in the doorway a moment, then looked down at the dead man and grinned. For the second time that month, he had managed to Matthew and himself from separation and any kind of trouble.

“Alfred,” Matthew called from the living room. “I don’t think we can stay here anymore.”

“Why not?” The older boy asked, stepping into the house over the bleeding man and walking into the living room with his hands in his pockets.

“If the gas station guy will come here, what’s to stop anyone else? The school? Family members? Ron’s friends?”

Alfred nodded; his brother had a point. “Where the heck would we go though?”

“I’m not sure, but we can’t stay here.”

Without any real plan, the boys went about gather up the things that they would need: clothes, nonperishable foods, guns and ammo, whatever money Ron had stashed away, and basic necessities for Cally. They packed everything into Mr. Black’s car, since it had more gas, took whatever money he had on him, and deliberated on who would drive. Eventually they agreed on Alfred since he looked older and had been allowed to practice driving around the back roads near their home before.

 

* * *

 

“Gosh, it’s so late!” Matthew muttered, checking the wall clock. “Can I finish this tomorrow? I want to be up a little early to pick up around here.”

“No problem at all, comrade.” Ivan assured him with a little wave.

Matthew stood, taking up his mug and moving a few steps to pick up Ivan’s glass. “I’m not sure where you can sleep, since Arthur’s taking up the futon and we only have one room….”

Ivan chuckled and lightly drug his index fingers over the dark stains beneath his eyes, “I do not think that will be a problem, I do not sleep easy. The television works, da?”

“Yeah, but we don’t get a lot of channels.”

“That is fine.”

“Well…” Matthew hurried into the kitchen, dropped off the dishes, and came back, “I’m off to bed then. If Arthur’s confused tomorrow, and he will be, just let him know you’re a friend and he’ll be fine.”

The older man nodded with a light smile. Matthew gave a little parting wave that broke into a yawn before he headed to his room at the end of the hall. Ivan watched him disappear into the darkness shrouding the hall, a deep desire stirring in his belly. He flicked his violet eyes over to the man lying passed out on the futon, letting his gaze travel down his body.

Clearly a druggie, but still so delectable. He probably had about two more years until his excessive drug use finally caught up to him and destroyed his looks. Ivan wondered just how burnt out the man was, how much longer he had until his body decided that it had had enough abuse and shut down. He wondered if the chemicals had any effect on the tenderness and flavor of a man’s flesh.

But that was neither here nor there. The last thing he wanted to do was upset his idols, his gracious and delicious-looking hosts.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OC Ron
> 
> Born: Chapter four - Died: Chapter five
> 
> Goodnight, sweet prince. You were a good man who deserved more than his cunt-bag children.
> 
> I do not own Axis Powers: Hetalia, Blockbuster, Honda, Sublime, Chevy, or Seneca cigarettes. This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to the lives of any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. I make no money from the writing of this fan-made product.
> 
> This was supposed to be the last half of the whole flashback sequence, but due to some hiccups in transition and a slight change in the order of events, the rest of the flashback will be broken up in the next chapter or two, amongst other happenings.
> 
> Up to chapter seven is prewritten but from that point out ya'll are in for a wait. I'm working on things and hopefully eight will be ready when I need it to be - lord knows the people reading this on other sites have been waiting long enough.


	6. Chapter 6

Coming around to consciousness was less of a slow, groggy up-hill battle than it was an abrupt eruption into the waking world for Arthur. It was an uncomfortable way to come to, of course, but he preferred that style of waking to any other. When he awoke with a start, he could be sure he wasn't slipping off the deep end of another OD.

His head ached, his eyes burned, and his stomach felt like it was full of some rather unpleasant slime. He blinked a few times to let himself grow accustomed to the light, then sat up and yawned. A quick glance at the wall clock told him it was something like noon. He wondered for a moment how long he had been camping out on Alfred's uncomfortable futon. It felt like maybe two days, but he couldn't be sure.

A loud shriek startled him from his thoughts and he turned toward the sound in time to see Alfred stomp from his doorway out into the hall. He was squinting without his glasses and at the very end of hastily maneuvering himself into a faded pair of jeans.

"Mattie, where the hell are you!" Alfred demanded, and was answered by something spoken too quietly to really hear from the kitchen. Arthur sniffed, his headache getting worse with each of Alfred's loud shouts. He threw himself to standing and yelled at him to be quiet before walking to his bag beside the television.

He barely paid any mind as Ivan walked out of Alfred and Matthew's room laughing. The thought of his morning hit blocked most everything out. He unzipped his bag and frowned; it was next to empty. One hit. Maybe enough to last him a couple of hours.

There was some kind of hushed argument going on in the kitchen between Alfred and Matthew that only helped to make his headache worse, so he dug around quickly for a little pick-me-up to make himself feel better.

Arthur noticed Ivan out of the corner of his eye. The tall stranger was just standing there, watching him.

"Screw off, I don't do hand-outs." He growled, irritated.

"I do not do drugs."

"Then what the fuck are you staring at?"

"You."

Arthur pursed his lips and snatched a few pills from the bag then swallowed them dry before closing the empty container and tossing it over his shoulder. He pushed himself up and stalked past the much taller man, the unwavering gaze unnerving him a bit as he made his way to the toilet. After a short cool shower, shave, and hasty application of eyeliner he came back out into the living room, feeling far better than he did when he had awoken. His stomach had settled and with the drugs starting to work his headache was all but gone.

He went into the kitchen to find Matthew in the middle of rummaging through the refrigerator and Alfred leaning up against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest and a pout on his lips. Another argument, and he was sure the younger of the two had won. It vexed him to no end how Alfred's moods revolved entirely around Matthew, how thick he was thinking that his feelings were mutual.

"I'm gonna go for a bit and check up on the club. It'd be boring alone, did you want to come with me?" He directed the question at Alfred.

"I gotta go to the store." The other man replied through gritted teeth, throwing a quick glare his brother's way. "Apparently I gotta take that freak with me." He jabbed his thumb toward the entry to the living room.

"Did you want to stay until they get back? I'm going to make lunch." Matthew popped out from the fridge with what appeared to be a hunk of old, rock hard cheese held between index finger and thumb. He tossed it into the garbage and stood up straight.

Arthur shook his head 'no' and gave a small dismissive wave as he turned to walk away. "No, I've got to meet my guy. I'm just fine going alone."

"Alright. Well, it was nice having you, come over whenever."

Arthur gave a half-nod and left. It was hot and bright outside, causing him to squint and grimace. He pulled his phone from his pocket and pressed 1; his dealer was on speed dial. He lit a cigarette and waited impatiently as it rang, and rang, and rang. When it clicked over to voicemail, Arthur let out an irritated sigh and hung up after hearing the a tiny snippet of "Bueno hola soy M-" He punched in a quick series of numbers, and got an answer in about the time it took him to take two short drags.

"Arthur, what brings me the pleasure of your call?" The sarcasm was so thick it could be cut with a knife.

"Where are you?" He already started walking East at a brisk pace, sure that he knew the answer.

"I'm on Aqueduct, of course."

Arthur let out a half-grunt of acknowledgement and promptly hung up. The sun was bearing down hot and heavy in the sky as if it were hell-bent on making him as uncomfortable as possible when all at once the stranger in his rented-out derelict house dawned on him. Just who the hell was that guy and what the hell was he doing in the boys' room? He flicked his cigarette butt, smoked down almost to the filter, out into the bushes and spat. He hated the taste of the things. Really though, who was that guy?

He clicked his tongue and glared at a woman who passed him by; his head was buzzing, his body was sore, and she needed to keep her god damned eyes to herself. Although it was dull, he could _feel_ , and it was just awful. He lit another cigarette and quickened his pace. Alfred, that git, he should have come along. Arthur hated going out alone when he was hurting for a buzz. What kind of friend was Alfred supposed to be, anyway? They never did anything alone. Now, it wasn't as if he disliked the younger one, but it would have been nice to go outside in the daylight from time to time. To go to a populated area and just hang without worrying about Matthew falling into a panic attack. For some psycho killer, the boy sure was a pussy.

That was another thing; when he spent time at their house and Matt was out of the picture for whatever reason (as rare as that was), he could actually talk to Alfred about things that weren't morbid and admittedly quite disturbing. As much as Matthew liked to sugarcoat his nature with polite, softly spoken words, he was just unnerving as hell.

All Arthur wanted to do was hang out with Alfred, talk about music or whatever, and get high. Preferably get high _with_ Alfred, but he consistently turned down his offers. He should have been honored, Arthur didn't share his stash with just anyone (read: no one).

He called his dealer again, and once again got the voice mail. "Bueno hola soy Max, leave a message at the beep yeah?"

"Hey it's Arthur call me back, my money is practically burning a hole in my pocket here." At that he hung up and turned a corner. He was greeted by a woman in her thirties with a massive hive of brown hair and pleather boots up to her thighs. She held crinkled cigarette squished between her boney fingers.

"Hey baby you lookin' for some fun?" She more wheezed than spoke in her deep, cracking voice.

"Like I'd want a busted slag like you."

"Real gentlemanly." She flicked an impressive stack of ash off onto the road.

"Fuck you, I'm a pure-bred gentleman."

She snickered and rolled her green eyes. "Yeah fucking right. You looking for Daddy?"

"Why else would I be here?" Arthur dropped his own cigarette and crushed it beneath his boot.

The woman started off down the street, not bothering to beckon for him to follow. "Thought you came to visit me. Don't see you around much anymore."

"Not a lot of reason to come around since Fred stopped slinging in this area." He followed along behind her.

"Since the Maletta family took over I haven't seen a lot of the old guys. Word on the street has it they're all worked up over something."

Arthur lifted a thick brow in curiosity. "What about?"

"Can't say for sure, but I've heard a new family may have sent them a message they didn't much appreciate." She flashed a yellow-toothed smile at a passing car, offering up a little finger wiggle of a wave. "People say two of their guys got knocked off."

"Better get off the street then, keep your head down. You don't want to get caught up in some turf war."

They came upon a derelict brick apartment building that towered over the single-story liquor and pawn shops that littered the area. Women in scanty dress loitered around the front, chatting while they peddled their various quality of wares at passing cars. When they noticed Arthur and their coworker approaching, some dropped what they were doing to rush over while other, newer women just gave half-hearted little waves and glances of indifference.

"Arty baby, it's been so long!" A blonde cooed, taking him by the arm and pulling him close. Another woman ran her fingers through her hair and winked at him.

Arthur smiled and pried himself away from the blonde before addressing the various greetings thrown his way. She pouted at the loss of contact and said, "It's been a long time, honey. You come to party?"

He shook his head and held up a hand. "No, money's been tight so I can't buy for so many people anymore." They all made their way up to the door.

A black-haired Indian girl of maybe fifteen piped up. "Baby what happened? Yer fam cut you off?"

He scoffed. "They did that a long time ago, love. But I need to go in, we can all catch up later alright?" Ignoring the chorus of disappointed sighs, Arthur climbed the short stoop and let himself in. The doors, far heavier than one would expect, groaned loudly as they swung in to reveal a cool, lushly decorated entryway that was the complete opposite of the building's exterior. The lighting was dim and the moving work of Jean-Baptiste Accolay drifted through the room, presenting an air of class and elegance. A beautiful woman with black hair and light blue eyes rose from a brown divan, her red chiffon gown whispering quietly with the movement.

"Bonjour monsieur Kirkland, this way please." She made a sweeping motion with her perfectly manicured hand toward the entrance to the main hall and started out at an even pace. Arthur followed behind, rolling his eyes at the garish extravagance his old acquaintance insisted upon surrounding himself with.

When they reached the end of the hall, the woman knocked lightly on the door. "Maître, votre invité est arrivé." She then turned to Arthur, lilted her head in a light bow, and began walking back to the entryway.

The room was thick with the scent of wine and roses, as dim and smoky as it had always been. Francis Bonnefoy, lucrative pimp and owner of every well-to-do stable that side of Westchester county, reclined in a large plush armchair. He was gazing off into the distance and distractedly enjoying opium from a large and beautifully crafted hookah with two young, curvaceous women sprawled across piles of silk pillows. His long blonde hair was pulled back loosely by a blue ribbon that matched his eyes, and the embroidery on his black silk robe.

Francis, three years older than Arthur, used to run both the local prostitution rings and drug trade. He and Arthur had become begrudging business partners for about a year some time in the past; Francis paid Arthur to allow him to sell within and around his club, Arthur scouted new girls for the brothels and was paid a healthy sum per head. The pimp had introduced his acquaintance to the world of illegal narcotics and had deeply regretted it ever since. The younger man had gone off the deep end of addiction practically overnight, something Francis could not have mucking up business. He cut ties with Arthur soon after it became clear he was often too off his head to count backwards from ten, much less handle any kind of work. Soon after, the Malleta family came and viciously began stomping out competition. Deeming the lives of himself and his girls more important than dealing a little smack here and there, Francis struck up a deal with the organization and was allowed to keep his stables as long as he gifted them twenty percent of his profits.

"It's been a while, Arthur. You look like shit." He pointed out smoothly through a cloud of smoke, eyeing the short man up and down.

"And you smell like shit, frog."

Francis just chuckled and motioned for Arthur to join him. The Englishman quickly took to the offer, plopping himself down between the two women and taking a hose. "You got anything to sell?" He put it to his lips and took a long, slow pull. He had never much liked the drug, but it was better than nothing.

"You know I got out of that business a long time ago, when the Maletta's took over. You have to buy from them."

"I'm not asking as a long-term customer, I'm asking as..." He frowned and adverted his green eyes, "As a kind of friend."

"A 'kind of' friend?"

"Shut the hell up."

Francis just chuckled and turned his attention to the women in the room. "Mes fifilles, if you may?" They nodded and got up, each throwing a little kiss his way before they left.

"Well? Do you have anything or what?"

Francis sighed, "You know I don't keep things I don't do."

"Well aren't you fucking useless."

"Talk to their guy, he's always got something on hand."

Arthur groaned and fell back, frustrated. "I've been trying to get a hold of him but he isn't answering. I don't want go all crazy on his phone and piss him off."

The men fell into a fairly awkward silence, the time they spent together in the past doing nothing to ease the discomfort. After a long while, Arthur spoke up again.

"I think I'm in serious trouble."

"How so?" Francis asked, leaning forward a bit in interest.

Arthur spoke past through the thick cloud of smoke he was slowly expelling from his lungs, dragging his hand over his face in a show of stress. "Well the IRS is riding me and I may have been dodging the payments on my building."

"What a waste of potential."

"Says you." Arthur rolled back and forth a bit, relishing in the relaxing sensation the opiate provided. "I'm thinking of getting snake bites."

"Don't you have enough piercings?" When Arthur just snorted and rolled over so his back faced him, Francis asked, "Planning on doing the 'scene' thing as well?"

"Yeah fucking right."

"You were enjoying some ridiculous pirate-themed wardrobe just last month, I don't see the problem."

The younger man rolled over to look Francis in the eyes. "Punk in a mind set, not a uniform."

"Looks like a uniform to me." He replied, referring to his friend's stereotypically punk attire.

"I'm wearing it ironically."

Francis chuckled, pushing a blonde lock of hair from his face with a flamboyant flick of the wrist. "So you're a hipster on top of it all."

Arthur flipped him off, bracelets clanking, and pulled his phone out of his pocket. Speed dial, ringing, he rolled his eyes and sighed harshly as the tone stretched on and on. Of course he wasn't going to answer, he was probably the flakiest-

"Hola?"

He threw himself to a sitting position, voice betraying his excitement. "Hey are you holding?"

There was a pause, so excruciating in it's suspense that Arthur wanted to scream. "What are you looking for?"

" _Everything._ " The rest of the call was brief and to the point. After he hung up, Arthur wished a hasty goodbye to his host and left, all but running down the hall, out the door, and to the West. He lit another cigarette just as his phone buzzed with a text message.

" _hey old man u shud get us a new TV smetime this thng sux_ " Alfred being an idiot, as usual. Always asking for things regardless of how many times Arthur had said no. The only time Arthur had even given in on something larger than cheap food was fall of the last year.

He, Alfred, and Matthew had been in Arthur's car, now long gone, going somewhere he couldn't quite remember. He was driving, Alfred rode shotgun, and Matthew was lying in the back seat.

"Alfred you reek like sweat." Arthur had said as the bright city lights cast pool after short-lived pool across them.

"Well I live in a freakin' van, what do you expect?"

"I like the van." Matthew muttered from the back seat, toying with his bear plush.

"Get a job and find a flat."

"Yeah, let me just pull my nonexistent ID out of my ass and give out my social, that's a real wise plan there buddy." Alfred rolled his eyes and opened the window. "I'd rather live in a van than rot away in prison."

"The van's nice, we can keep them in it."

Arthur scoffed. "Make a fake ID and steal a social, it isn't that hard."

"That sounds hard."

"You just tie them up and hand cuff them to the..."

"I don't know how you made it this far you clod."

"Says you, ya stuffy old hoity-toity tea-chugging ass." Alfred pulled a rubber band from his pocket and snapped his friend in the cheek.

"What are you doing you god damned idiot I'm dri-"

Snap!

"Alfred stop it right now!"

"And they just keep shrieking and crying and begging..."

Snap!

"I'll kill you!" Arthur yelled, using his right hand to start slapping at Alfred as he tried to keep his eyes on the road. He had been glad he had only had one bump that night or things may have turned out quite differently.

"You hit like a girl!" Alfred laughed, blocking the blows with his arms as Matthew continued to ramble on and on in the back seat.

"Oh I do, do I? How about we pull over and see who's laughing when I'm done kicking your fat arse!"

"Oh no, Captain Cocaine is gonna try and fight me with his weak girl-arms! Oh gosh what will I ever do?!"

"...and when I broke her jaw she screamed so loud I thought I was going to go deaf..."

Snap! Snap!

"Bloody hell Alfred stop it we're going to hit something!"

Alfred slapped Arthur's hand away just before the older man managed to snatch the band. "Then find me somewhere to live."

"What? No, find your own place."

Snap!

"Do it!"

"No, find your own you lazy fat son of a-"

Snap!

"...and, oh maple, the blood was so slick and warm and..."

"God damn it Alfred stop it!"

"Get me a place I'm so tired of living in that damn van!"

"I never came so hard in my-" Snap! "Ow! Jesus Alfred what the heck was that for?" Matthew yelped, sitting up.

"For being all fucking creepy back there. Now shut the hell up, I'm trying to get us someplace to live."

"But I _like_ the van."

Alfred rolled his eyes and turned away from his brother. "Yeah and I don't."

"Well I know a guy who has an old junkie nest he needs to get demolished." Arthur said, using his knee to steer as his lit a cigarette. "I could probably get you that. It looks like shit so rent will be cheap."

"You're seriously gonna charge us rent?"

"Where do you think my money comes from? The sky?" Arthur darted his eyes back and forth between the road and his friend. "Nothing is free, Al."

In the present, Arthur had finally reached his destination; the middle-class part of town. Strips malls, children playing unsupervised, powder blue SUVs. Just up ahead outside of an ice cream parlor stood his dealer with a cone of vanilla ice cream in one hand and his phone in the other. His hair was in dreads, as usual, and pulled back into a low ponytail.

"Isn't it too hot out for a suit?" Arthur asked him when he was close enough not to have to yell.

The man, tall and swarthy, lifted his treat as if to say "That's why I have this."

Arthur just shrugged and waited for his dealer, Max, to complete his phone call. He hung up with a long, harsh sigh and took a bite from his soft serve.

"What were you looking for?" He asked as he readjusted his dark shades.

"A little bit of everything."

Max motioned for him to follow, then walked inside the parlor and took a seat in the far corner. Once they were situated, Max leaned in and propped his sun glasses on his head. "I'll give them all to you for half off,"

Arthur's eyes widened in shocked glee. "Wh-"

" **If** you can tell me who's been picking off the people who go to your club."


	7. Chapter 7

It was about noon when Alfred finally began stirring. He groaned and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. He was tired and sore from the long, whispering argument he had been in with his brother the night before. That and the slightly too rough argument-sex that followed. He cleared his throat, it was still tender, and slowly opened his eyes.

There, staring at him from the side of his bed, was Ivan. Their faces were little more than a hand's length apart. The older man's breath smelled like booze and Winterfresh gum when he spoke. "Good morning, comrade."

Alfred shrieked and scrambled up and out of bed, hastily snatching his jeans from the loose headboard. Ivan just laughed and slowly stood, watching the younger man hop out the room with one leg in his pants and face bright red.

"Mattie, where the hell are you!" Alfred demanded, finally managing to get his left leg into the pant it belonged.

A quiet call of "in here" let him know to go to the kitchen. As he stomped through the living room he ignored a sharp yell for him to quiet down from Arthur, who was standing beside the futon only half awake. Ignoring the demand, Alfred stalked into the kitchen to find Matthew rummaging through the cupboards with an irritated look on his face.

"I really wish you wouldn't eat all the good stuff so fast." He grumbled, shutting the spray-painted door and making his way to the fridge.

"Ivan was in our room!" Alfred hissed, looking over his shoulder to see if he had been followed.

"Of course he was, I asked him to go wake you up."

Alfred grabbed his brother by the wrist and pulled him closer. He snapped through gritted teeth, "He was _staring at me_!"

Matthew yanked his hand away. "Oh boo hoo." He motioned to the open fridge. "We have no food, Alfred. How about you make yourself useful and go to the store?"

"I want that guy out of my house, Matt."

"Well it really isn't up to you." A long stretch of silence settled over them, both brothers staring each other down; Alfred glaring and clenching his fists in anger, Matthew looking bored yet stern.

After what felt like an eternity, Matthew finally broke the silence. "Go to the store and pick up some food. Take Ivan with you and explain things before you get back."

"What, you expect me to-"

"Yes."

"Hell no."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Just do it, will you? I wanted to cook but we don't have anything and I'd really rather not wait until late to eat."

"Then take your bitch ass outside and get it yourself!" The argument went on like this for some time. Ivan came in and fetched a glass of water at some point, stopping the discussion in it's tracks, but the minute he left they started up again. Various threats and insults were thrown back and forth until, finally, Alfred caved.

"Make it quick." The younger sibling said, turning his attention back to the fridge.

Alfred leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest, huffing. Just then Arthur came into the room, his gaze shifting around the space and hands shaking lightly. He looked better than he did some mornings, the mornings where he would quake and sweat and stutter and pick at his arms repetitively. He asked if Alfred wanted to join him on some errands, a request to which the blond was forced to decline. Arthur just shrugged and left.

Not long after the Brit had gone, Alfred grabbed some of their stored-away money and went to the door. He turned his head to look at his guest, who was seated in the living room. "Ivan, Matt asked me to take you with me. Teach you some stuff."

"I am sure it will be great fun." Ivan said, following after the younger man. They walked a little way in relative silence, only the background noises of the city easing the tension. Ivan lit a cigarette and moved a little closer to Alfred, matching his steps.

"Dude do you need to walk so damn close to me?"

"Yes."

Alfred shot him a glare and moved a little to the left, only to be slowly followed. He spend up, slowed down, stopped suddenly, but nothing seemed to get the taller man out of his personal space. After some time he finally gave up, rolling his eyes. Ivan only gave a small chuff of a half-laugh past the smoke at his lips at the younger man's frustrations.

"May we stop at my apartment for a moment? It's not far from here and I would like to change my clothes."

"I guess so, yeah." Alfred conceded, pushing his hands into his pockets.

"Fantastic." Ivan flicked his cigarette ash away and a battered green Sedan drove by. "Just turn left up here and it will be three blocks down."

The area wasn't too much different from what Alfred was used to; gang tags on all the buildings, litter carried across the road by the wind. Various unsavory-looking people standing or walking around. Ivan's apartment was an ugly grey beast that stood five stories tall. Above the sea of graffiti that thinned as the wall became higher, there was nothing particularly interesting about the old building. Thin rectangular windows, broken front door that never fully closed, shaggy brown-spotted lawn. Ivan lead the younger man inside and up three flights of creaking steps to apartment number 56. The six had fallen crooked and there were five padlocks keeping potential burglars out. Once all of the locks were undone, Ivan invited Alfred inside and offered him a seat.

"Why's it so fucking dark in here?" Alfred asked, eyes owlish in the shadowed room.

"I blocked out the windows." Ivan explained smoothly. He shut the door, engaged all of the locks, and started for the dresser in the corner.

"Why?"

Ivan looked at him a moment as if thinking of something of some great importance. After a short time of awkward silence, he spoke quietly. "There is a crow that lives on the roof next door. I fear it was by them to spy on me."

They just stood there a moment looking at one another. Alfred unsure if he should take what he just heard seriously, Ivan somber in his conviction.

"You're just fucking with me right?" The American asked.

"Not at all, but what you do and do not believe is none of my concern. I will be back in thirty minutes."

Alfred nodded and watched the taller man disappear down a shallow hallway. The blond slowly wandered about the tiny apartment. He stopped in the kitchen to check the refrigerator only to find it locked. _Who the hell locks their fridge?_ He thought, giving the door a couple firm tugs. The cupboards were stocked with canned meats and fish, chewy dark breads, and potatoes. Boxes upon boxes of powered eggs and milk took up the surprisingly large pantry.

Thoroughly dissatisfied with the meager offerings in the kitchen, Alfred moved on to the living/bed room. He vaguely noticed the surprising lack of cigarette butts or ash in the area. The entire place was cluttered, but strikingly clean. Alfred stepped over the mattress that lay crooked on the floor to get a closer look at the windows. Sheets of thick black paper were taped or stapled up, blocking all but the tiniest bits of light. Alfred pushed a piece back and saw that the windows had been nailed shut. He frowned; _Well that's not weird as fuck or anything._

After a few more moments looking around (leafed through a stack of drawings, noticed a leaning pile of his own snuff films on the nightstand, found at least ten half-empty bottles of vodka stashed every which place) he finally sat down. The bed was as uncomfortable as he had imagined it being. He scooted back a bit to lean up against the wall. His movements kicked a bit of sheet away and revealed a few small blood stains. Alfred grimaced and put the sheet down over it so that he wouldn't have to come in contact with the dried fluid. He poked the computer on to check the time. Sighing softly, Alfred flopped back against the wall with a pout. It had only been ten minutes. After a few minutes of just sitting there staring at the clutter on the walls, he started trying to come up with a beat-box tune.

Some time passed and just as he felt his scratch sounded perfect, Ivan's voice perked up from the hall. Alfred sputtered and immediately stopped what he was doing, bending a bit to try and judge whether or not Ivan had seen him doing something so embarrassing. "What?"

"Where is your cat?" Ivan repeated a bit louder from the bathroom. The door was cracked open and pale steam curled out of the opening.

"What cat?"

"The one you used to own as a child."

Alfred bit his lip a moment, expression softening. After a short time he looked back toward the bathroom, "She died."

"Oh?" Ivan cracked the door open a bit more now that most of the steam had cleared. He peeked his head out, silvery locks dripping. "How?"

"...Because I'm 'an idiot who can't follow basic instructions.'" He said in a mocking tone.

"Tell me."

"I thought Mattie already told you that story, it has to do with when we got into this."

Ivan's head retreated back into the confines of the bathroom. "He did not get that far."

"Well where did he leave off?"

"Leaving your home."

Alfred nodded and thought a bit. "Alright, so... We stole that dude's car and rode around for a while. You know, Mr. Blank or whatever the fuck. Just kinda kicked the shit, ya know? So yeah, we would just stop at some house in the middle of fucking nowhere. I'd get in first and Mattie would wait outside somewhere. We went in separately to be sure they don't catch us off guard. Like, if I go in and get shot then at least he's fine."

Ivan let out a grunt past the blue toothbrush in his mouth to show that he was listening.

Alfred crossed his legs into a pretzel shape and leaned forward on one arm to peek around the corner at Ivan. "So yeah, a long while back we broke into this old woman's house. She had to be like eighty or something... Oh yeah! We were like sixteen by this time. She was really nice. Gave me some candy after I pulled my gun on her."

"Such a pleasant-sounding woman."

"Oh totally. She was real cool so I told Matt I didn't want to knock her off. He wasn't too happy to hear it and it turned into a fight. Rolling around on the floor cussin' and yellin' like idiots in front of a complete stranger." Alfred placed his forehead in his hand and sighed.

"We acted like dumb little kids, it's a real shock we didn't get caught with how sloppy we could be."

"You _were_ children, Alfred. Sixteen is still just a baby." Ivan reminded him, running a long shaving blade over his cheek.

"That don't matter much in jail."

"I suppose it doesn't." He agreed and finally came into the room.

"So anyway, after we were done fighting he ended up setting the whole house on fire! It just all went up like **fwoof**!" He threw his arms up to try and better express the destruction.

Ivan chuckled as he leaned up against the wall. He had changed into a simple dark gray long-sleeved T-shirt and a frayed pair of dark jeans.

"Old lady bit it." The younger man continued, "But whatever, she was gonna die any minute anyway, she was old as shit. So Matt was mad that I didn't kill her like he told me to and he wasn't talking to me. This might take a minute, if you wanna get going."

"Da, of course." Ivan said and offered Alfred a hand. The younger man sneered and waved it off before pushing himself up to his feet. They were back out under the heavy midday sun fifteen minutes before one o' clock.

 

* * *

 

Alfred was sixteen, a victim of hormones and sporadically growing limbs that rendered him quite clumsy. He was driving the old pea green minivan down highway 87. He, his cat Cally, and his younger brother were traveling from Chestertown to Stamford, New York. The van's windows were white with the splintered lines of frost that were allowed to flourish in the failure of the old vehicle's faulty heating. Alfred had a plush brown and tan scarf wrapped around his neck and was trying to squish himself further down into it to escape the evening's chill. He flexed his fingers and winced at the rub of his woolen glove's fabric over his chilly digits.

Matthew was fifteen. Puberty had been much kinder to him, gently easing him between youth and manhood. Zits were a rare nuisance, and he was beginning to fill out rather well. He was only 5'6, but he would keep growing if Alfred's height seemed to have anything to say about it. It was nice to be getting bigger, made everything that much easier. Although he missed just being a kid, he loved to know that he was much stronger than before. He could actually hold a girl down on his own now, without requiring Alfred's assistance. He way lying on the floor in the back of the van that they were currently living in, the fingers of both hands threaded and resting on his belly. He was staring at the ceiling, quietly entertaining himself with silly little fantasies. Thinking of the smooth feeling of a sharp blade on a woman's tender skin, opening up her throat so blood could gush out so prettily.

Cally, getting on in her years, yawned hugely. She lay dozing on the passenger seat curled into a tight ball against the cold. Alfred insisted on keeping her, even after all of this time, and she was never much of a nuisance. She ate what was given, used the litter box in the back of the vehicle properly, and never tried to bolt away when they stopped in some place or another. She could be overzealous in her cries for attention at times, but was never irritating or loud.

"Jesus fuck we need a new car." Alfred complained, sneezing loudly onto the steering wheel. He sucked a long booger back up into his nose and grimaced.

Matthew wanted to scold Alfred for being so disgusting, but he was making a point not to speak with him. He swallowed his words and tilted his eyes up to watch the skeletal tips of trees slip across the window, the rest of their bony forms hidden from view. The ride was silent, awkward, and horrible thanks to the broken radio. Both boys were desperately in need of a break from their near-constant travels. Alfred sneezed again.

"We're running outta gas and _holy fuck_ it's cold in here!" The pronunciation of 'here' tapered off into a long whine that was thick with congestion. Alfred topped it all off with another sneeze that sent a glittering plume, little droplets of misted snot and saliva, all across the steering wheel.

Matthew abruptly sat up, finally being driven to break his prolonged silent treatment. "Alfred would you _please_ cover your mouth when you sneeze? That's so disgusting!"

"I told you I was sick and shouldn't be driving but you didn't listen." Alfred complained, using the back of his gloved hand to wipe a stripe of snot from his upper lip. To Matthew's great disgust, the greenish slime clung to the fabric and spread all over the older boy's cheek.

"Stop touching things, you're gonna get snot on everything! Hey, hey!" Matthew slapped Alfred on the shoulder and pointed to a small building a ways up the road. "Stop at that station."

Once they were properly parked and filling the tank, Matthew sent Alfred off to the bathroom to clean up. When the tank was full, he put the hose back into the slot and strolled inside to browse for a snack. He wandered up and down the aisles with his hood pulled up to give him some sense of security in the wide open area. He hated being seen, being spoken to, being scrutinized and judged. After a quick pass around the store, he found it empty but for himself, his brother in the bathroom, and the attendant. Matthew stopped and passively studied a rack of candy, glancing over to the man at the counter.

He was older, maybe fifty, with salt-and-pepper hair combed back smoothly. His watery blue eyes were set heavy in their sockets and red-rimmed with the cold that had been going around. He was watching a small television with a slight frown of boredom. Matthew recognized the program but couldn't remember the name. After a while he grabbed a can of Pepsi and a candy bar and brought them up to the counter. The clerk's name tag said Warren.

Warren scanned the items quickly. "That your van?" He asked, nodding his head back to designate which vehicle he was talking about. It wasn't necessary; it was two in the morning and they were practically in the middle of nowhere.

When Warren's gaze fell on him, Matthew felt his skin crawl. He immediately dropped his head, unable to keep up the eye contact. Matthew couldn't stand it. Something about the way the man blinked, or maybe it was the twitch of his lips when he smiled. He bit his lip a moment, collecting himself, before he looked back up and cast a slight smile.

Matthew could feel the venom towards the man churning in his stomach. It made him nauseous, _he_ made him nauseous. The boy's smile faltered for a moment. He didn't like this guy, this _Warren_. Matthew frowned and pushed his hands into his pockets. They were supposed to be lying low after the whole house-fire situation, the heat was on too strong, one misstep could land them both in jail.

"I'm robbing you." The words were on his tongue as the idea popped into his head.

The attendant raised an eyebrow then let out a small laugh. "Yeah whatever kid, just pay up."

A few seconds passed before Alfred came out of the bathroom. Matthew backed up from the counter a few steps then turned his face to his brother to speak. "Alfred, we're robbing this guy."

"You sure?"

Matthew nodded, and Alfred returned the motion. The older boy reached to the back of his pants and pulled out the .357 Sig pistol he was very proud of himself for procuring earlier that year. He pointed it at the attendant and clicked the safety off.

"Hey, hey, hey now guys..." The old man sputtered out, raising his hands and taking a step back. "Take whatever you want, I'm not stopping you."

"Don't fuck up and I wont shoot you." Alfred said. "Now come outta back there and kneel down."

Warren nodded and slowly came out into the open space, then dropped to his knees with a bit of difficulty. His old bones weren't what they used to be. Once he was down, Matthew went around the back of the counter and eyed the register.

"How do you open this?"

"Pound, thirty-eight, no sale, enter." A few beeps filled the air before the register popped open.

"You're doing real well at not getting shot," Alfred leaned in a bit, squinting at the man's nametag, "...Warren. Keep it up and you might get to eat dinner with the lady tonight."

Alfred took a couple fidgeting steps and thought for a moment before speaking. "She hot?"

"What?" Warren frowned a bit, shuffling from his uncomfortable place on the floor.

"Your wife, she hot? Big tits, right? You look like a tit guy." He snickered to himself before Matthew harshly shushed him.

"His wife would be old." The younger boy pointed out as he stuffed the last few bills into a bag. "Where's the surveillance tapes?"

"Office in the ceiling above the desk. Please don't do anything to my wife."

"Ah, sick, you're right. Naw man, don't worry about your old lady." Alfred paced back and forth a few times, always keeping the gun trained on Warren's head. "You might not think it since I probably haven't made the best impression, but I'm a nice guy. I know about love," He thumped his hand on his chest a couple of times to emphasize his point, "and I respect that shit."

Alfred cast a quick glance toward his brother as he spoke the dreaded L-word. He hadn't been able to say it out loud yet and was worried Matthew had heard. From the sounds of his climbing around in the small office, he hadn't.

Once all of the tapes had been taken, Matthew hurried around the store grabbing food and items that they would need and packing them into plastic bags. When he was done, he dropped a couple of bags next to his brother to carry. "Shoot him and let's go."

Warren let out a little shriek of fear, and Alfred turned a bit to look at his brother. "I said I wasn't gonna shoot him."

"Y-yeah he said if I didn't do-"

"Shut up, Warren." Alfred snapped, waving the gun at the older man before he turned back to Matthew. "But I did say that, you heard me."

"So what? Just shoot him and let's go."

Alfred frowned and looked over at the kneeling man. Something about him reminded the boy of his father. Not the way he looked, no, Ron had looked a little like an old and blond Gregory Peck, whereas this guy just looked like a stork. No, it was something else. Maybe the fact that he was so old. The shitty job was similar. Regardless of what it was, exactly, Alfred found himself beginning to feel a kind of jetlagged grief. He had liked his dad, damn it. He bit his tongue, started to squeeze the trigger, then dropped his arm. Alfred sighed and ran his free hand through his hair, sniffling as some snot began to peek out of his nostril. "I don't want to."

Matthew narrowed his eyes. "Shoot him and let's go."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"I don't want to. Warren's a cool enough dude, I don't want to shoot him."

"Give me that!" Matthew snapped, taking a few steps forward to snatch the gun from his brother's hand. He pointed it at Warren, not even bothering to cast the terrified man a glance. "When I say 'shoot,' you fire."

He squeezed the trigger and flinched when the gun went off, spraying the contents of Warren's head across a rack of magazines. The old man's body slumped backward quietly, as if he had grown tired of the exchange and decided to lay down on the cold linoleum floor for a nap.

Matthew pushed the gun back into Alfred's hands and snatched up a few bags before storming out of the shop. The older boy stood there a moment, shocked silent as the muffled sound of a fast food commercial filled the now quiet store. After a while he put the gun's safety on and tucked it back into his jeans.

When Alfred came out, Matthew was seated in the van's passenger seat and idly leafing through an issue of Blade. Although he tried to keep his expression passive the irritation he was feeling was clear in the way he would turn the pages just a little too harshly.

Alfred climbed into the driver's seat and started the van. "You're a fucking asshole."

"Just drive." Matthew snapped, refusing to look up from whatever article he was skimming.

Alfred rolled his eyes and put the vehicle into gear. About two hours of stifling silence later they pulled into a sleazy motel just off of the highway. Alfred parked the van a little ways from the front door, leaving it to idle as he ran inside to check in to a room. The woman at the front desk was half asleep, her head lolling as she struggled not to fall face-first onto the polished mahogany surface.

"Hey!" Alfred belted out, slapping the desk. The woman let out a harsh shriek and jumped, nearly falling out of her chair. She shot a glare his way, caught herself, and plastered on the most friendly smile she could muster up.

"Would you like a room?" She asked in a lilting voice that was as sweet to Alfred's ears as a pot of honey.

He had to clamp his mouth shut a moment and ride out a fit of immature giggles. Her face, oh god her face had been priceless. If her reaction was that strong over a little startle, he wondered how afraid she might be if he flashed, not pulled, only flashed, the gun peeking out between his jeans and boxers. The color would drain from her cheeks, he was sure, like it always seemed to with the younger ladies. What if he pulled it out? Would she scream? Probably not. She looked the type to fall silent, pliant, cooperative, anything to keep herself from getting shot. The kind of girl that when making out hot and heavy, all hands and lips and tongues, who isn't ready to move beyond a harsh session of aggravated dry-humping, would say "no" when her man's hand would slip into her wet panties. She would say "no" and be ignored, and she would clam up and shake and quietly repeat the word as her man pushed into her anyway. The kind of girl who would go home and cry and ask herself "was it rape?" again and again but never say anything, never even dump her man and move on to greener pastures.

Alfred liked those kinds of girls. Soft girls, quiet girls, weak girls. He wondered if he could get her to let him fuck her with his gun. Not fuck her for real, he didn't cheat, just the gun. He bet he could. He bet he could get her to fuck _herself_ back onto it and moan and cry his name through her sobs and tears. If he said he wouldn't kill her if she did it, anyway.

But no, now was not the time. Matthew was waiting, they were both tired and hungry and had, admittedly, been getting sloppy. They needed to lay low.

He flashed her a charming smile and her irritation visibly lessened. "Yeah, one bed for the night."

He wasn't sure if Matthew intended on staying for and extended period of time, but he didn't want to pay for more than he needed to. They were perpetually strapped for cash, with good reason, and he was trying to save up to buy a Buck knife for Matthew. He was putting away little bits of cash here and there, mostly change, as not to spoil the surprise. Of course he could just steal one if they came across it, but he felt the effort of buying it meant more.

Alfred paid for the room, got the key, and tossed a little wink at the clerk before sauntering back out into the bitter cold. He brought the van around back, closer to their room. Both boys grabbed a few items that they needed and hurried inside, sighing happily when they walked into the small room's heat. The room was a generic affair with a large bed in the center against the wall, a television sitting on a  faux wood dresser, a cheap-looking microwave and mini-fridge by the closet, the window touched with frost and presenting a pathetic view of the rear parking lot. A cramped bathroom was adjacent the front door.

Matthew went about putting their things away while Alfred ran back outside to grab Cally, her litter box, and two folded down bags of fresh litter and cat chow. By the time he got back inside the microwave was beeping. Matthew took two Styrofoam instant noodle cups out and placed them on the counter to finish cooking, pinning each of the paper lids down with a plastic fork.

Alfred dropped Cally on the carpeted floor and she began slinking around and sniffing things inquisitively. He set the box and food and litter down in the corner then threw himself down onto the bed with a loud sigh of appreciation.

"It's so good to lay in a bed for once!" He exclaimed, stretching out and yawning.

"I'm just glad we have heat." Matthew said and turned the TV on. The guide channel was on, scrolling lazily through the meager channel lineup. Matthew flipped it to the news then took up their dinners and came to sit at the front of the bed. Alfred sat up and took his cup and dug in hungrily, hissing and wincing at the painful heat on his tongue.

"You're gonna burn your taste bugs off." The younger boy said, twirling noodles around his fork and blowing them cool.

Alfred rolled his eyes and kept on slurping the long strips. On TV the anchorman was reporting the recent disastrous house fire. It had been deemed an accident. When they were both done eating Matthew disposed of their garbage while Alfred changed into a pair of pajama pants. The younger teen went to the scratchy old armchair in the corner and sat down.

Cally meowed loudly, craving attention, and began rubbing her body along Matthew's pant leg. He patted his thigh and she took up his invitation, jumping up lithely and letting out a long meow that rumbled with the sound of her purring. He went about petting her as he addressed his brother.

"We need to lay down some ground rules or we're going to get caught."

"Like what?"

Cally pushed her head up against Matthew's palm and meowed again.

"We need structure. I'll come up with the plans, you just do what you do best."

Alfred frowned a bit. "And what is that?"

"Helping me."

"And why don't I get to do any plan stuff?" Alfred asked, but relaxed a bit. He hadn't expected to be praised. There weren't many things that made him happier than being helpful to his brother.

"Because you're not good at it. So just do what I say, alright?"

Alfred bristled at that. His plans weren't always bad! He was just as good as his brother at making decisions! "No way, dude! I wanna come up with shit sometimes too, it's boring just-"

"Alfred." Matthew cut in, but was ignored.

"doing what you tell me all the time! 'Alfred, I want her. Alfred, shoot them.' All you do is-"

"Would you please just listen to me?"

"No! You think I'm stupid! Well guess what, Matt? I'm not!" The older boy snapped, hopping to his feet and pacing to burn off some of the anger that was building. "I might not'a finished school and I might not try to talk all fuckin' fancy like you but that doesn't mean I'm a god damned retard!"

"I never said-"

He pointed an accusing finger at his brother. "If you were so god damned smart we wouldn't be in this fuckin' situation anyway! We coulda' just jacked the car and left home, you didn't need to go giving me stupid fucking ideas and-"

"Alfred!" Matthew yelled (to the best of his own quiet ability, anyway). "Do you really think you could do my job? Your scores in math _sucked_ , do you really think you could manage our money? Figure out how far we can drive, how long we can go, without stopping? Can you even read a map?

"You're brawn, Alfred. You're strength and muscle and damn good at talking to people, I'll give you that, but that alone doesn't cut it out here and you'll just end up getting us killed because you can't control your idiot impulses!"

Taking a second to let his words settle over the space like an acrid smoke, Matthew placed one hand on the cat's back and the other on her head. She arched her spine up into the touch, ignoring the argument. "You're an idiot who can't even follow basic instructions and I'll slit your throat and leave you to bleed out before I let your foolishness put us in prison.

"When I say to do something, you _will_ listen or I swear I will make you regret it." He finished, tightened his grip on Cally's small head, and gave it a harsh twist. The cat's neck snapped, the rapid-fire _pop pop pop_ of her fragile bones sickeningly loud in the quiet room. Alfred stood there a moment, registering what had just happened, then let out a high-pitched shriek of horror and ran over to snatch the limp animal from Matthew's hands.

"C-Cally, hey.. Hey, hey kitty kitty kitty." He called to her, holding her close and trying to hold her head up from the unnatural angle it had fallen as if that would somehow bring her back. When she didn't respond he made a low-pitched keening noise and slowly sank to his knees, hot tears burning his eyes and slipping down his cheeks.

Matthew sat there a moment and let his brother cry. After some time of watching the boy weep and mumble the animal's name he slipped down from the seat and scooted over to him. He placed a hand on Alfred's shoulder. "She didn't feel it, I did it too fast."

Alfred slapped the hand away, hugging the animal tighter to his chest. "You killed her! Y-you fucking killed her and she never did nothing wrong to anyone!"

"Alfred," Matthew tried again and was once again slapped away, "Alfred, listen to me. Sometimes... Sometimes these things happen. Sometimes the things we like are taken and there's nothing that could have stopped it."

Alfred finally looked up at his brother, eyes red and shiny and a bit of snot starting to peek out from his nostril.

Matthew touched him again and wasn't pushed away. He took it as a good sign and pulled his older sibling into a firm hug. "Cally was a good girl, she really was. But you need to listen, alright? You need to listen to me and do what I say, alright?"

The older boy looked from Matthew to his cat and back again. "But why'd you hafta..."

"It's for the best." Matthew said, planting a soft kiss on Alfred's temple and lightly running his fingers through the teen's golden locks. He scooted a little closer and reached down to rest his hand on Alfred's crotch and nibble his neck. "How long's it been?"

Alfred swallowed loudly and squeezed his cat a little tighter. "Few days."

"S' been too long." Matthew corrected against Alfred's heated flesh, pulling his lips back to bite down firmly on the older boy's shoulder.

"I've been sick." Alfred hissed out through clenched teeth, wincing in pain when Matt's bite broke the skin. "Y-you're the one who said not to try anything so you didn't catch it."

Matthew gave a half-interested hum of acknowledgement, moving to gently pry the cat out of his brother's hold. He set her on the foot of the bed, patting her head affectionately, before turning his attention back to Alfred. He hooked his finger's in the waist of the boy's pajama pants and tugged.

"Dude, you killed my cat. What makes you think-" Alfred began with a frown, reaching down to push the offending hands away.

"Be quiet." Matthew deftly unfastened his own jeans and tugged them off. He slapped Alfred's hands out of the way and grabbed the hem of his pants again, this time giving them a strong tug. They slipped down around his thighs and he didn't complain this time around, just kind of grimaced and looked away. He was still upset of course but it was hard to ignore his torrential adolescent hormones. He tilted back to let his pants be slipped off completely.

Matthew sat himself on Alfred's lap, both of them nude from the waist down, and leaned in to pepper a few softer-than-usual kisses across his brother's lips and jaw line. He reached down between their bodies to take hold of Alfred's flaccid member and give it an encouraging squeeze. Alfred gasped quietly, more a puff of air than anything audible, beginning to come to life in his brother's hand. Matthew leaned in to nip and lick the shell of Alfred's ear while keeping up his hand's slow, deliberate pace until the older boy was fully hard.  

The older teen hissed quietly when Matt's nails drug over his sensitive flesh. It hurt, but in a way that always made him twitch his hips up in a wordless plea for more. His brother scooted forward a bit, pressing their erections flush together, and Alfred let out a light moan at the sensation. Suddenly a thought flitted through Matthew's mind unbidden - _it's only gay if the balls touch_ \- and he had to struggle back an insane fit of laughter.

Alfred reached around to squeeze the boy's ass. "Matt do you think I could-"

He just shook his head 'no' and repositioned his hand in order to stroke them both at the same time and leaned in to capture Alfred's lips in a heated kiss. He deepened it, enjoying the decidedly 'Alfred' flavor that never failed to remind him of cola and something spicy he could never quite put his finger on. He pushed the pad of his thumb a little too firmly against the tip of Alfred's dick, smearing the little bead of pre-cum that was gathering there.

Alfred gasped into his brother's mouth. That had hurt, damn it, but it brought him closer anyway. It felt like it had been so long since he'd had some kind of release. He thrust up into Matthew's hand and let his hands rub over the boy's soft ass. Maybe someday he'd get a crack at it, but apparently not now. Disappointing but not terrible.

"You can fuck me when I'm dead." The younger boy would often say before rolling them over and placing himself in the driver's seat. Well Alfred didn't know about all that, but he was sure he would get his chance eventually.

Matthew's hand picked up speed and he broke the kiss, cheeks flushed and little pants coming through his slightly parted lips. He leaned forward to lay his head on Alfred's shoulder, thrusting his hips down to increase the friction. Wow, it really had been a while. He wasn't going to last nearly as long as he would have liked and he kept having to force the memory of that satisfying little chorus of snaps the cat's neck made from his mind lest he cum too early and embarrass himself.

"Shit Matt, I'm s-sorry but I'm gonna..." Alfred groaned out, grabbing Matthew's hips and trying to stop his movements.

"No, that's fine." Matthew muttered. Well, at least he wasn't going to go too fast and deal with his brother's rude jeering for the rest of the night. He squeezed their members tighter and sped his ministrations.

"Nngh, god Matt, bite me!" Alfred yelped out and Matthew complied without a word, sinking his teeth into the teen's shoulder and harshly scraped his nails over Al's dick, careful not to scratch his own. With a strong shudder and moan-turned-cough Alfred came, shooting his spunk up between them and across Matt's hand. The younger boy quickly followed suit and they sat there a moment, breathing hard and waiting for the after glow to wear off.

"I'm tired." Matthew muttered without lifting his head.

"No."

He scooted back a bit to look his brother in the face. "What do you mean 'no?'"

"You're not going to bed yet, we still gotta bury Cally."

"Just put her in the fridge for the maids tomorrow."

"No way!" Alfred snapped, "We're gonna give her a proper-a-a-ACHOO!"

A plume of snot exploded out directly into the younger boy's face. Matthew sat there a moment, staring shocked and wide-eyed at his brother, who stared right back before bursting into a fit of hysteric laughter.

After they were cleaned up of various bodily fluids and the inevitable fight that broke out on the floor, they wrapped the cat's corpse in a towel and grabbed a shovel out of their van. When they pulled the door open, a harsh and icy wind blew in and made them wince. They were both tired but Alfred insisted on giving the poor creature a proper burial. Wind howled and snow crunched under their feet as they went past the parking lot and out into a thick patch of Birch trees. They were both quiet for the walk, save for Alfred's occasional sneezes and Matthew's quiet queries of where, exactly, they were going to be burying her and if they were close. A little more than  a mile of walking later, Alfred finally deemed a small clearing in the trees to be the best place. He and Matthew played a quick game of paper-rock-scissors to see who would be digging.

"You should say something." Alfred said a good half-hour later, dropping the shovel to the side and loudly sucking snot back into his nose. The sun was starting to climb over the horizon, painting the sky pink and red.

"Like what?" Matthew asked, standing next to him and looking down at the little hill of dark soil that marked the fresh grave.

"I dunno, anything."

The younger boy cleared his throat and thought for a moment before speaking. "Cally was a good cat, and... um... She was getting old anyway so I suppose this isn't too bad."

"You're a jerk." Alfred muttered, reaching out and snatching Matthew's hand in his own. He winced a bit from the pressure, having developed a couple of blisters from gripping the shovel's wooden handle for so long in the bitter cold.

"Sorry."

Alfred just shrugged and a dog bayed in the distance. After a long time he took a deep breath and spoke. "I love you, Mattie."

The younger boy turned to look at him, somewhat shocked, before cracking a little grin.

 

* * *

 

"Ah shit, I'm gettin' all sappy and romantic on ya." Alfred laughed, stretching his arms over his head enough to audibly crack his back.

"Romantic?" Ivan asked, slowly lifting an eyebrow.

"Well yeah dude, with the snow and the sun comin' up and all that romantic movie shit."

"I do not mind, your affection is quite clear." He said, digging in his pocket to retrieve a smoke.

"You're actually cooler with it that I expected. Arthur flipped his shit when he found out." Alfred said, chuckling at the memory. "Oh and you might not want to light that, we're going in here."

Ivan nodded and put his cigarette away, recognizing the destination; The smut shop that he popped in to every now and again. "Why are we here?"

"Well Mattie asked me to show you the ropes and shit so I thought I should explain some things. This place is on the way to the store so I thought it'd make sense to drop by real quick. So me and Matt'll record our shit sometimes and we sell it to Ludwig, the guy who owns this place. I call him Luddy sometimes because it pisses him off. He doesn't say anything about it anymore but yeah, totally fucking hates it." Alfred explained, pulling the door open and stepping inside.

They were greeted by the soft tinkling of the door bell and a loud yell of "shut the damn door you're letting the AC out!" Ludwig wasn't in that day. The counter was manned instead by a guy with white hair and striking red eyes. He was dressed casually in a faded pair of blue jeans and a T-shirt sporting a humorous logo. His hair was tussled and unkempt as if he had been sleeping not more than five minutes ago.

"How the fuck do you expect to get any business just yelling at potential customers like that!" Alfred yelled back.

"Potential customer my ass," the man returned, "you never buy shit you broke fuck!"

"Ivan," Alfred turned a bit to catch the taller man's attention, "this is Gilbert, Ludwig's pissy little albino-freak brother."

Gilbert flipped him off.

"Gil, this is Ivan. He's Matt's... Acquaintance." The word was bitter on his tongue.

Gilbert flipped Ivan off as well. "Any friend of Al's is a piece of shit."

"He's not any friend of mine." Alfred grumbled and Ivan just cast him a disarming smile. "Anyway, any more pay on that last vid?"

"If it were up to me you wouldn't see a god damned a dime." Gilbert sneered, poking a code into the cash register and popping it open. He pulled an envelope from under the bill tray and tossed it.

"You're a real bitch, you know that?" Alfred caught it and tucked it into his back pocket and turned to leave. Gilbert just huffed and waved them off dismissively. Once they were back out onto the street, Ivan spoke up.

"He doesn't seem to like you very much."

"He's a moralfag. Not enough to rat us out or anything since Lud appreciates our business, but still." The younger man explained, pulling the envelope open and riffling through the bills.

Ivan's eyes narrowed as he watched Alfred count his money. His fingertips twitched a bit and he frowned. Once the blond had counted the bills, four hundred and eighty dollars, he tucked it into his jeans pocket and started off down the road.

"How do you know he wont tell anyone about you?" Ivan finally asked and Alfred just shrugged. A few minutes of walking lapsed in silence, and soon they found themselves at the nearest grocery store; a crappy little hole-in-the-wall type place with harsh florescent lighting and grey-stained tile floors. Alfred grabbed a hand basket and pulled a crumpled shopping list from his pants pocket.

"Where the hell is the per-mah-se-on." He wondered aloud, looking at the signs that hung over the aisles.

Ivan peeked over the man's shoulder, which wasn't hard due to his height. "Parmesan."

Alfred snatched the paper away, crumpling it in his fist. "Like you'd know, commie. You can barely speak English."

Ivan frowned but let the insult go. There was no point in pushing it into an argument, especially if he ever intended on giving the boy a go. Ivan eyed him up and down as they wandered through the aisles. Alfred didn't seem to like him very much, but that didn't really matter. The man seemed to obey his brother fairly well, so if Ivan could warm Matthew to the idea he probably wouldn't need to use any kind of force.

"Alfred," Ivan piped up in the frozen food aisle. "Have you ever slept with any men other than Matthew?"

The man in question dropped a bag of frozen corn into the basket he was carrying and turned to cast Ivan a slightly offended glare. "Hell no, I don't cheat and I'm not a fag like you. Why do you just assume I'm a homo?"

Ivan was taken aback by the response, as well as somewhat offended. "You enjoy having sex with Matvey, yes?"

"Obviously, and his name is Matthew."

"That sounds a bit gay, Alfred."

"Naw man, being a fag is a sin," Alfred scoffed. "Besides, I love tits too much to be gay."

Ivan trailed after the younger man as they made their way up to the counter. "I did not take you for the religious type."

Alfred elbowed a teen out of his way and took a place second in line. He dropped his few items on the belt without care to any sort of order before he spoke again. "A'course I am man, God's my bro."

"Murder is a sin, Alfred."

The blond rolled his eyes. "Pfft, if the Lord cared He would have struck me down a hell of a long time ago."

Ivan let it drop and Alfred finished checking out. He dropped the bags into the older man's arms with a rude comment about how Ivan needed to make himself useful and beckoned him to follow out of the store. The walk back was a fairly quiet deal that allowed Ivan all of the time he wanted to vividly imagine how, exactly, he was going to make Alfred regret his offensive treatment. Every now and then Alfred would pipe up about various things; That they paid their friend Arthur rent and a small fee to be allowed to scope for people in his club, that they kept themselves afloat by stealing objects of value from their victims as well as shooting videos, that they made a percentage of however much money their videos sold at Ludwig's shop, how frustratingly difficult it could be keeping their faces out of the public eye in order to retain their freedom to move about without a disguise. By the time they walked into the brothers' house it was just past three o' clock.

Matthew greeted them with a pleasant smile, then reprimanded Alfred for making their guest carry everything. Said man just shrugged and went into the living room to play video games and complained loudly about how old and terrible their television was.

"Ask Arthur to get us one." Matthew recommended as he handed drinks to his brother and Ivan before disappearing back into the kitchen to cook.

"He's a greedy cunt." Alfred grumbled but still sent the text. They ate over an old Western film and polite conversation was carried between Ivan and Matthew. Every now and then Alfred would interject something rude aimed at their foreign guest but for the most part he held his tongue. Whether he was too interested in the movie or he feared Matthew's irritation was up for debate.

When the sun was starting to set Ivan stood and announced that he was leaving.

"Oh? Where to?" Matthew inquired.

"I have work in the morning so I am needing to try and sleep. I will see you again, thank you for having me."

"Good riddance!" Alfred called back at him then went back to watching cartoons.

"Shut up, Alfred." The younger sibling turned to smile at his guest. "Well feel free to come around whenever. Would you mind swapping cell numbers?"

Ivan, of course, didn't mind at all. After a moment of quiet typing Matthew got a text and added the number to his contact list. With that Ivan said goodbye took his leave. Outside of the house he took a deep breath and pushed his hands into his pockets. He started home and for a moment felt the strong sensation of being watched. He looked around himself and frowned. It was _them_ , he just knew it. How they found him so far from Russia he didn't know, nor did he care to find out. He just ducked his head, pretending that he hadn't noticed, and kept on home. He walked a little faster than normal, intent on getting home as quickly as he could. If _they_ were going to come and try to take him he would rather it happen in the protected fortress of his own home than out in the open.

When he finally reached his apartment he let himself inside and slammed the door shut behind himself and engaged all of the locks. Hopefully that would keep _them_ out, at least for a little while.

 

A/N:

Cally

Born: Chapter four - Died: Chapter seven

Your trusting nature will be rewarded in cat heaven.

I do not own: Axis powers: Hetalia, Winterfresh gum, Pepsi, Glock guns, Blade magazine, Buck knives, or Styrofoam brand polystyrene.


	8. Chapter 8

"Did you hear?"

"On the news!"

"Yeah, Vick was talking about it."

Voices spreading the news in excited whispers. If it was a message, this could mean war. There hadn't been a real gang war in that area in years. Everyone was on edge; what had happened to the poor sap was unbelievable.

"Shot him..."

"...how would that work?"

"-straight into his brain!"

Black leather shoes, polished to a mirror shine, clicked over clean marble floor. Every few feet was lined by a pair of guards - tough men with stern expressions and guns strapped to their hips. The owner of the shoes, well-dressed in a Versace suit, his Zenith watch reminding him that he was actually early today and would be able to avoid a lecture on his punctuality, was heading toward the large redwood double doors on the other end of the hall at a leisurely pace. The well-behaved cut-throats and leg breakers at either side didn't bother him. He was smartly dressed , dark black shades perched on his head and a cigar held between his teeth. He had a weakness for sweet foods and it showed, but he wore his weight well enough. He was dark skinned with an extra tan on top of it and his dark brown hair was dreaded and pulled back into a pony tail. The man's name was Maximo but he preferred Max. "Maximo" sounded like a cheap super hero to him. Max kept his surname withheld to help protect himself in his relatively dangerous profession.

He reached the doors and knocked twice.

"Enter!" A voice called from inside.

Max pushed the heavy doors open and walked into the large office. "What did you need me for, sir?"

A man with brown hair was sitting behind the desk with an unhappy scowl on his face. He was attractive in  a refined sense. The dark blue suit he wore was clean and pressed with precision, adding to his air of professionalism. His hair was parted off to the side and he looked up at Max through pristinely clean glasses. He rested his elbows on the desk, his nose and mouth hidden behind his threaded fingers. There was a mole on his chin just off of the corner of his lower lip that made him look like a men's fashion model. When he spoke his tone was calm and unwavering.

"I need you to find whoever did this." His name was Roderich Edelstein and he was the head of the Maletta crime family. The mafia didn't work like it used to, they were no more a family than the workers at a grocery store. Flanking him on his left and right was a man and a woman, twins Elizabeta and Elliot Héderváry. They were well known enforcers and personal security to Roderich.

"I haven't been keeping up with the happenings lately." Max admitted, taking a few puffs from his cigar and scratching his ear with his pinkie.

"One of my best men was killed. This isn't an ear-to-the-ground situation, Max. Get it together." Roderich pushed his glasses up higher onto his nose as he spoke.

"Wait, yeah. I heard about that Vargas kid-"

"Forget about him, he was just some two-bit punk. No, I'm talking about Antonio."

Max raised his eyebrows in surprise and blew out a thick cloud of fragrant smoke. "Fernández?"

Roderich nodded, his brow creasing. "I don't know who did it yet, but they mean business. They took him apart, Max. He was alive from most of it, our guy down in forensics tells me."

Mr. Edelstein had Family members working all over the city. Many police officers around the area were taking his bribes in return for acting as ears and eyes from the inside. He kept a constant finger in the pulse of his city and it had shaken him to have one of his best men assassinated without him having heard something about it first. His man in the city morgue explained the things that had been done to Antonio and he hated to need dirty his lips repeating the story.

"Sir, that is a god damned shame." Max sighed and dropped the butt of his cigar onto the polished floor then stomped it out. "Who's my target?"

Frowning a bit at the rude action, Roderich lifted his left hand and snapped his fingers. Elizabeta came up behind him and took a hold of the handles on his chair and maneuvered him out from behind his desk. "I want you to find whoever killed Antonio and make an example of them. We need to show every upstart little gang in the area what happens when they get too close to the sun."

The wheelchair-bound man took a moment to cough as regally as possible into a handkerchief. "Kill them and bring their heads to me. I want to mount them up where every little pissant in this city can see." He motioned with his hand and Elizabeta began to push him toward the door. Max tilted his head to watch the man roll past. Up this close he could see the little droplets of sweat beginning to bead at his forehead. His chapped lips, pallid color, tree-branch bones of his thin hands. Roderich was a sick man, always had been. As a child he was mostly bedridden and always ill. He had spent his time at home studying geography, math, fine arts, and history. He was a perfectionist of the highest caliber, and as such only allowed himself excellence in all fields. His stringent need for absolute rightness was both a blessing and a curse on the entire Family. Failure was never tolerated.

Max made a tiny salute with his fingers. "Can do, sir."

* * *

 

Max had places to go and things to do. He had been on vacation back home in Cuba for the past three weeks and as such had no idea what was going on in the area. He would need to meet up with some of his old acquaintances and ask them about the situation. This job was already proving to be a pain in his side. How exactly did Roderich expect him to find the people responsible for Antonio's death when he had no information at all as to who they might be? Mr. Edelstein seemed very sure that it had to have been the work of an opposing gang, but Max wasn't so sure. There were some well-known serial killers in the area.

"But Fernández wouldn't have let some nutjob idiots take him off guard..." He muttered in thought, rubbing his scruffy chin. Antonio was known for his killing ability and was a prized assassin. He was much more covert than Max was, opting to slip in unheard behind the target and slit their throat. Max was a 'Bullets and Ballistics' type of guy. There was a simple kind of joy in pulling a trigger from buildings away and watching a mark's head pop in the clear precision of his scope, or just tossing a few Molotov cocktails into their living space and burning them down to nothing.

There was the chance that it was over a personal grudge, but Max had a hard time thinking of anyone who would have hated the man, aside from some misguided vigilante working to avenge a loved one that Antonio had a hit on. As long as he wasn't killing you he was a very pleasant person to be around. Carefree, a little ditzy even, a man of simple pleasures who didn't go out of his way to make unnecessary enemies.

The portly man frowned. Maybe it _was_ a message from an opposing gang. But why knock Antonio off, of all people? Like Max, he was a contracted killer, not actually inducted into the Family. It would have made more sense, presented a stronger message, to take out one of the inner Family members. Someone closer to Roderich. Max let out a harsh sigh; it felt like he was chasing his tail with all of this conjecture.

His phone buzzed and when he checked it he saw that it was a call from that drug addled little shit Arthur. The man was one of his best customers, sure, but he could be extremely irritating at times. He had a sour attitude and this undeserved "better than you" quality that rubbed Max the wrong way. He was rich, but he hadn't earned any of it. He was just a college dropout trust-fund baby that thought the world was at his beck and call.

When he wasn't sniping the targets Mr. Edelstein marked, Max made his money slinging drugs around the lower portion of the gang's territory. The Malettas, and by default Max himself, had an iron grip on the area's drug trade. Most people were too smart to try to cross them, and the people who were slower than most or new to the area found out about their mistake very quickly. The strikes ordered against rival gangs and independent manufacturers by Roderich were swift and brutal. Because of this, Max didn't worry about losing one of his regular high-volume sales. There just wasn't anywhere else to get his fix from, he would have to wait until Max's errands were complete.

He sent the call to voicemail and cycled through his contact list until he found who he was looking for. The man didn't even have a proper name, listed only as PICKUP. PICKUP was Max's main source on information on what was happening in the city. He never spoke face-to-face and didn't answer straight phone calls either. He was a shut-in who worked online and Max never cared to know much about him.

_Pick, what do you know about this whole Fernández/Vargas deal?_

A reply came almost immediately. _Fernández - Killed in his apartment. According to the coroner he was tortured for some time, maybe hours. There appeared to be a single perpetrator. Torture methods include: burns, cuts, lacerations, stab wounds, sodomy with a sharp object (presumably a kitchen knife or something similar), removal of both eyes, left leg sawed off. "Krasivaya" (красивая) or "beauty" was written in his blood along the wall where his body had been positioned. A sunflower had been placed at the scene of the crime._

The second one followed so quickly that Max had to believe that the man had written the answers up ahead of time. _Vargas - Hit by the Skin Brothers the night after Fernández. His brother was also killed, he had no ties to the Family outside of his relation to Lovino. It was the usual fare as it is with those two. Probably unrelated to Fernández' death._

_The family is mobilizing for war and working to sniff out the perpetrators. The Calhouny family insists that they want no trouble, the East Bank Raiders are claiming the same. An envoy has been sent to speak with the Mensaurs up north but their leader just recently died and the group is weak right now so probably wouldn't risk a war. There are three fledgling gangs that popped up within the last year who are gaining steam fairly quickly but even combined their forces are less than a fourth of the Malettas._

Max nodded and sent PICKUP a quick thank you. Well, this definitely supported his idea that it hadn't been an organized hit. Of course he wouldn't tell that directly to the boss, he knew better than to try and argue with Roderich. He would just have to investigate this his own way and once the perpetrator was dead he could bring the boss their head in exchange for a hefty bounty.

It was sure that those serial killers had gotten to Vargas. Max wondered if he should go after them; after all, Mr. Edelstein hadn't seemed to care much about Lovino's death. Honestly, the assassin couldn't fault him on it. Lovino Vargas was a hot-headed little son of a bitch, but that was about all he was. He was hot air, ready to throw rude words around when he felt no one could call him out on it but when push came to shove he would slink away with his tail between his legs. The only reason he had even gotten a place in the Family at all was under Antonio's recommendation. Losing the Vargas kid meant all of jack-shit nothing at the end of the day, but leaving a Family member's killer on the loose would make them appear weak.

Well, the Skin guys were a good enough place to start as any. Max climbed behind the wheel of his sleek black Bugatti Veyron EB 16.4 (his occupation's pay grade allowed him some great luxuries) and pushed the key into the ignition and turned it over. The car purred to life and he took a moment to push his shades down over his eyes.

* * *

 

"H-h-hey Max, m-my man, I didn't expect you around so soon." A weedy junkie was saying, his gaze everywhere but the taller man who had kicked his front door open only moments ago. He stood there fidgeting in nothing but an old, sweat-stained pair of briefs, his greasy red hair sticking out every which way.

Max stepped further into the room of the apartment. The area was filthy and stifling. "Word on the playground has it you're cooking, Jack. I expected better of you. I thought you were smarter than that."

Jack let out a sharp whine of a laugh and started scratching his upper arm, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. "N-naw man, ain't no way I'd do that shit. You know me Max, you know I don't mess around."

Max plucked his sun glasses from his eyes and placed them into his breast pocket. "You calling me a liar?"

The man's brown eyes widened and he took a step back, still scratching. "You know me, I'd n-never say that about you."

"Sit down, Jack." Max commanded, softly shutting the door behind himself. The man stayed where we was, scratching and swaying with his mega-watt nerves screaming at him to run. "Sit down or I'll sit you down."

Jack squeaked and shuffled over to plop down on half-broken computer chair that was in the middle of the room. His left leg jiggled up and down and he finally seemed to notice that he was starting to scratch his arm raw. He pushed his hands under his skinny thighs and swallowed audibly, watching with intense, dinner-plate eyes as Max made his way slowly toward him.

"They say you're cooking, Jack."

"I would nev-"

"Don't lie to me." Max stopped a few feet away from the nervous man, scowling in distaste at the distinct cat-piss smell that permeated both Jack and his home. Max hoped it wouldn't stick to his suit, he liked this one.

Jack's eyes darted around the room a bit and Max thought he looked like a terrified rat trying to find a hole to dart down into and escape. "I-I-I m-might'a been cooking just a little bit but I ain't selling it. You know me, man. You know I wouldn't do that sh-shit to you man. You know I w-w-wouldn't c-cross the Malettas either man. _You know me, man_."

"That isn't what my man said, Jack." Max sighed, beginning to roll his sleeves up. "My man said he bought fifty bucks of shit from you only a few days ago. He said the quality was awful, by the way."

"You know me, man." Jack said again, his hand had wormed it's way from under his thigh and was once again clawing away at his arm. The crook of his elbow was deeply bruised and track lines ran across his pale flesh like polluted rivers.

"And you know me, Jack. You know I don't like being stolen from."

Jack's voice climbed into a shrill whine. "I'd never s-steal _shit_ from you man, _I'd n-n-never steal shit from you_."

Max took a step forward and belted the man directly in the jaw, knocking him from his chair. Jack hit the floor with a harsh yelp and curled up into a fetal position. Max shook his hand a bit, the man's sharp jaw had hurt his knuckles, then landed a few hard kicks onto the man's back.

"You calling me a liar, Jack? You calling my man a liar?" He demanded, landing another kick onto the man's ribs.

Jack cried out in pain but didn't try to get away, only curling further into himself. "I'm sorry! I'm s-s-sorry Max! Tell Roderich I'll d-do anyth-thing, I'll give him m-my recipe and I'll never sell again!"

"No one wants your cloudy bottom of the barrel garbage, Jack." Max sneered, standing over the man and leaning down to snatch him by the hair. "Look at me."

The junkie let out yet another whine, his lower lip trembling, and slowly turned to look Max in the eyes. "I'm sorry Max, I-I'm so f-f-f-fucking sorry I'll never-"

"Your breath is disgusting." Max said, scrunching his nose against the blow of putrid air. "Roderich doesn't know. I didn't tell him yet.

"If you don't want to die I suggest you stop what you're doing right now. I suggest you go back to stealing car radios and sucking dick to make your drug money. I don't want you cooking to sell, I don't want you cooking for personal use. I don't want you cooking so much as a god damn hamburger for a good, long while. I don't want to hear a thing about you other than 'Jack's a great customer, he never tries to trade useless bullshit for his hits. He always pays upfront, in cash.' That's all I want to hear about you, do you understand me?" Max slammed Jack's head down onto the floor once and let him go.

The redheaded man scrambled away and pressed his back up against the wall, breathing heavily but still too pumped full of adrenalin to feel any real pain. He nodded vigorously and cracked half of a fright-induced smile. "Y-you wont tell Roderich, yeah? You wont tell him, right?"

"You're a lucky man, Jack. You're lucky I'm so nice." Max said, smoothing his sleeves back down. He had intended on going light on the man; he had known him since he was just an overworked college kid looking for something to keep him up through long study binges, and he was a little sentimental because of it. He had also just finished an amazing vacation, so he didn't have the pent up frustration to vent onto the man.

"Thank you," Jack's voice cracked and he began to cry fat tears of relief. "Th-thank you, thank you so much Max, I knew you wouldn't kill me. I knew we were still f-f-friends."

"Keep your head down, Jack." Max advised. "The Family's all worked up right now and if Roderich hears about this he'll send his twins. You don't want that, I don't want that, so don't make it happen."

The tweaker nodded his head and watched Max make his way toward the door. After a moment, just before the Max had gone, he finally found his voice. "M-Max, hey my man, d-d-do you think you could hook me up?"

Maximo shook his head with a sigh and dipped his fingers into his pocket. He produced a small bad of methamphetamine and threw it over his shoulder, uncaring to where it landed. He walked out of the apartment with the sound of Jack's boney knees scrambling over the hard floor toward where the drugs had landed and a long mantra of gratitude.

* * *

 

Max loved most of his job. He liked the flexible hours, the generally exciting work, the high pay. One thing he didn't like was the occasional bought of research it required. This was one of those times. He was in the library, his head resting against his palm as he flipped through old newspapers. He read up on every killing committed by the local murderers that he could find, hoping to find some sort of connection. There wasn't much of a pattern to work with. The victims always has some of their flesh stripped away, the attractive and young ones (with no preference to gender) were often sexually assaulted, they seemed to prefer knives and guns. They would be in their early twenties. Judging from their father's height, they wouldn't be the tallest guys. Not short, exactly, but nothing impressive. Blond, one with blue eyes and one with the oddest color that could only be explained as some shade of purple. They had been in the area for some times now, which was a little strange for them. They normally moved around more than this.

 

Max sighed harshly and let his head fall to the table, his forehead making a dull thump on the wooden surface. Nothing about this was useful, everyone knew this stuff. It wasn't helping him get any closer than the cops, and they were about as far as a country mile. He sighed again. They were presumably in the area. They couldn't keep jobs under their real names but that wouldn't stop them from just stealing an identity. There were two of them when they started but that didn't mean that they were still together. Anyone as inherently violent as them could have easily gotten into a fight and tried to kill one another. They could have just drifted apart. Evidence suggested that they were still together but it all just guesswork in the end.

It was all so god damned frustrating.

Their victims were found basically any old place. There didn't seem to be some deep-seeded physiological reason for them to do what they did. They weren't like the BTK, they weren't like Zodiac, they weren't similar to Delphine LaLaurie. They didn't seem to have any reason to do what they did outside of "it's fun." If this had been a movie there would be some deep, tortured-soul reasoning behind what they did that Max could exploit, but sadly he lived in the real world and things didn't just fall into place so easily.

"Okay, so Vargas was in an old hotel...." Max mumbled to himself, going over the most recent victims he had been reading about for the past hour. There had been a woman, a sexy little trophy wife to some lawyer. Three women before that, all of them young and virile. One was a hairdresser, one was a stripper, and the final was a collage student. Two men before that, a mechanic and a librarian. An old woman who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. All of them but the elder had been raped at some point, but that didn't explain much. Well, only one person's DNA was ever found in the semen so at least Max could assume one of them had a massive inferiority complex. "Rape is about power, not sex" and all of that.

Not that that information helped him any.

He sat there, thinking and wishing for a drink and a night on the... Suddenly his eyes flew wide and he rustled through some of the papers. He drug a map closer to himself and unrolled it. The trophy wife was found in her home on East Broadway. The hairdresser near Grand Street, the stripper in the alley behind her place of work the Cheetah Club on 43rd street, the college girl in Gramercy Park. The mechanic and the librarian had been found together on 42nd street. All of them had been dressed well, all of them had alcohol on their systems. He pulled out his phone and shot a text to PICKUP.

_Was there anything similar on the skin bro victims? Not their personal features or jobs or anything, but a mark?_

A few tense minutes passed before a reply came. _When? Sorry, I was taking a shit._

_The last six, not counting the old woman who was shot and robbed._

_Five of them had a reddish-blue smear of ink on their hands, but it doesn't seem to mean anything._

Max grinned. He knew a place in lower Manhattan that marked it's patrons with a red and blue stamp. Suddenly his phone rang and he jumped. When he checked it, his grin widened.

"Hola?"

Arthur's voice came through the speaker. "Hey are you holding?"

Max paused, thinking for a moment how he was going to make this all work. "What are you looking for?"

" _Everything._ "

 

 

 

A/N:

I do not own: Axis powers: Hetalia, Versace, Zenith, and Bugatti cars.


	9. Chapter 9

"Come on damn it! I said I don't know, what more do you want?" Arthur snapped.

Max patted his briefcase and began to stand. "Then I'm forced to cut business ties with you, Mr. Kirkland."

The blond jolted forward and grabbed Max's forearm. "Don't get ahead of yourself for Christ's sake, just sit down - sit down! - and I'm sure we can figure something out here."

"You've gotta tell me or no deal." Max said, returning to his seat.

"I can't give you that information but I can tell you a few things if I get all of that - for free." He motioned toward the case. There had to be enough to last for a month in there at least. It wasn't like he intended on telling Max the truth about anything and how would the man find out? "These people I _allegedly_ know would be dangerous to cross, I'm sure you understand."

"Just tell me where they are and I'll take care of before they even know you talked."

Arthur frowned. "If the police haven't caught them in all of this time what makes you think you can?"

Max laughed, lightly slapping the table a few times. "Arthur, Arthur, there isn't anyone I can't handle. Don't worry your pretty little counter-culture head about it, man."

The blond's frown deepened. This twat wasn't taking him seriously. It's not too surprising since the man was laid back most of the time, but it still irked him. Arthur wanted to tell him to fuck off, but he felt certain that there was no way this man would let it die like that. Max seemed like a nice enough guy, but he was tethered to the Malettas and he would do anything ordered in any way necessary. Max would - and had in the past from what Arthur had heard - kill people known to be close with him, so there was absolutely no way Arthur could talk him out anything he planned on doing. Walking away now would put him in a bad spot. He had a (floundering) business to take care of and with the lock-down on the drug trade he would have a hell of a time getting his fixes. If he didn't give Max something, or if he was caught in a lie, their wouldbe more to worry about than withdrawals.

On the other hand, he couldn't just give Alfred and Matthew up. Not only would that make him a snitch - and he _loathed_ snitches - it would be as if he pulled the trigger on them himself. Matthew was a vindictive son of a bitch, however passively he went about it. Although Arthur and Alfred had been best friends for as long as they had Alfred served as Matthew's attack dog. The last thing he wanted to do was find himself on their bad side.

Aside from the risk of betraying them, he liked those arseholes, and he didn't want to see anything happen to them. Especially Alfred, that poor dumb boy wasn't nearly as messed up as his little brother. With the right presence in his life he would probably come around to a somewhat proper human being.

Arthur couldn't betray them, but he also couldn't offer a bare-faced lie. Truly, a "rock and hard place" situation.

"What do the Malettas want with some serial killers anyway?" He finally asked.

Max stayed quiet for a moment, deciding how much information Arthur was privy. A small child began crying within the short lull in conversation and was quickly hushed by it's frazzled-looking mother. "They killed someone that they shouldn't've and this is not the time to fuck with the Family. There's tension coming at us from the Mensaurs up North and those new gangs that have been robbing banks all over the fucking place. Shit is going down, and it's going down soon. Roderich can't afford to have any weaknesses and getting your guys picked off by run of the mill criminals is about as weak as it gets."

He drummed his fingertips on the table top. "You don't want to keep quiet and cross Roderich, man. We both know that if you don't spill he'll just send me back. You know what me coming back means, Arthur." It was a stretch of the truth, since Roderich thought he was investigating rival families, but Arthur didn't need to know that.

There was another moment of awkward quiet between them before Arthur folded his hands on the table top and spoke. He didn't meet Max's eye. "I can't help you, I don't know them."

Max nodded slowly, his casual demeanor casual. The two men sat there a moment, each passing second sending heavy lances of fear, as well as regret over his loyalty, down Arthur's spine until Max spoke. "That's a shame."

When he slid out of his seat Arthur looked up at him in confusion. "And?"

Max laughed. "And nothing, man. Don't worry about it."

"That... that's it?"

"I didn't know you liked me enough to want to hang out." Max joked, readjusting his tie. "I've got business elsewhere so you'll have to find something else to do."

"You know what I mean." The Brit nearly snarled, frustrated with the man's blasé attitude over something so grave.

Max's expression darkened. "We're done here. I'm going to leave. I'm a busy man so I won't be available until this issue is sorted out. I'm doing you a favor, take it and shut up." With that he nodded a short goodbye and left the building.

Arthur sat there a moment, struck dumb and watching the man walk across the parking lot through the large window beside his booth. Only after Max climbed in his car and drove away did Arthur remember to breathe. That was it? He had expected Max to threaten him a little more, to bully information out of him. If anything he had known that the man would have given him his three day leeway. When people crossed Max, they were usually given three days to get their affairs in order before he came for them.

Maybe Max would come for him? Maybe he did have three days? No, the man was direct. If he meant to kill you he would let you know.

Arthur let out a growl of annoyance and drug his shivering fingers through his hair. Whatever, he was alive for now and that was what mattered. If he had air in his lungs and working legs, that meant he had means to go out and try to find a fix. Now that Max had not-so-subtly cut him off, Arthur would need to do some serious searching for a new dealer. He wished he had gone through more trouble to make connections amongst his more financially compatible peers. They were sure to have someone working drugs to them under the table.

He had never felt any kinship with his fellow upperclassmen. They annoyed him, reminded him too much of living at home with his stuffy mother and father. Strict rules and etiquette, pretentious modes of speech, the endless streams of dull business parties and constant brown-nosing by people lower on the hierarchy. Elbows off the table, back straight, proper diction, liquids on the right and solids on the left at dinnertime, don't curse, keep your voice down, on and on, piles and piles of unnecessary rules.

When he complained his mum would straighten his collar and say, "It seems silly to behave like a proper gentleman now, but you will understand when you're older."

The thought of being like his father; sipping tea and reading the paper in front of the fireplace in his pressed slacks and god damned green sweater vest, made Arthur shudder. There was no way he would end up an uptight arsehole when he got older.

"Whatever." He murmured to himself. Dwelling on missed connections wouldn't do him any good right now, and neither would thinking about his home life. He took a deep breath and slid out of the cheap plastic booth.

 

* * *

 

Boss Albin was dead. A black widow spider had crept into his bed as he slept and made quick work of the frail old man. His funeral was a spectacle to behold, with a veritable sea of black-clothed attendees standing stoically around the casket. They filed by, each pressing a short kiss on the large ruby ring adorning his withered hand before moving on to sit or stand around the area. The only person who was not present was his wayward son and said boy's bodyguard.

Artallo, a tall and powerfully built man with thick brown hair and a large ring similar to Boss Albin's, excused himself from the small group of people he was speaking to in order to wave another man over to the edge of the funeral area.

"Kevin, where the _hell_ is he?" Artallo demanded in a harsh whisper once the redhead was within earshot.

Kevin pushed his glasses further up on his nose as he spoke in an agitated tone. "We've been looking for him since this morning and we've had no luck."

"Didn't I tell you to put a damn tracker on him?"

"We did, one on his car and another in his phone." Kevin explained. "Well as of this morning his phone was in his room closet and the car tracker was signaling from the bottom of the estate's pond."

"Tch, that little shit needed to be here." Artallo growled. "Where's his guard?"

"Went with him. Always has in the past."

"That son of a-" A loud honking interrupted him. He looked over to the crowd and gaped at what he saw.

A bright red Rapide S with black-tinted windows was unhurriedly approaching the coffin, forcing the crowd to split apart before it. Unsure muttering filled the air as the slow-moving vehicle came to a stop just before the grave.

Kevin and Artallo didn't need to be able to see through those pitch-black windows to know who was making such a garish entrance. The driver door opened and a man with shoulder-length brown hair and green eyes stepped out. He offered a quiet apology to people as he walked around to the opposite passenger seat and pulled it open. Black heels, bubblegum pink toenails, smooth white legs, the barest flash of black panties, pink pleated skirt, white shirt left unbuttoned to a deep V, long pink deco nails. Medium length blond hair and bright green eyes.

Feliks Łukasiewicz, Boss Albin's sixteen year old son, pulled himself out of the car and into the hot sun with a smug look on his face. "Sorry I'm late!" He yelled out, swinging one hand in a wide arc over his head as a lazy, all-encompassing wave. The diamond-set bangles on his wrist clattered loudly against one another with the movement. The crowd made a small hum of hushed confusion as Feliks started toward the casket his father laid in. His strides were long and confident, his hips swinging immodestly. His body guard Toris Laurinaitis, also sixteen, followed closely. Feliks put one hand on his hip and looked down at the corpse of his father with a frown.

"About time you old geezer."

He snatched the ring from Albin's hand, spun around to face the crowd and raised the beautiful piece of jewelry up for all to see. "Albin is dead!" He declared, pushing the ring onto his middle finger. "My name is Feliks Łukasiewicz, I am ex-Boss Albin's son, and the heir to his position! If you have any complaints I suggest you say them now!"

A wave of energy shook the crowd as people whispered to one another in excitement. Slowly the murmur grew into mild chaos as people looked to one another to find out what they were supposed to do. Feliks clicked his tongue as a smug smile crossed his face until one man, Albin's right-hand-man Lancaster, pushed his way out from the crowd with an enraged scowl on his lips.

"The new Boss is to be voted in by the counsel!"

Nary a moment after the final word left his mouth, Feliks reached to the holster under his shirt and produced a pink 460XVR Smith and Wesson. He pointed the weapon directly between Lancaster's eyes. "What was that?"

Lancaster swallowed thickly, his prominent Adam's apple bobbing with the movement. "Feliks, you know the Family doesn't work like a monarchy..."

The sound of the gun going off was like a crack of thunder. The right side of Lancaster's head all but exploded, sending him sprawling to the grass in a bloody heap. The guests flew into a panic, shrieks ringing out from the crowd as the people clamored over themselves to get away. Feliks pointed the gun up in the air and fired again, effectively stopping everyone in their tracks.

"I've got men set up all around the perimeter! If anyone tries to get out of here without my say-so they've been instructed to shoot on sight!" He paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink in. "Now, does anyone _else_ want to complain?"

Countless pairs of wide, fearful eyes darted back and forth amongst one another as the people waited with bated breath to know who, if anyone, had anything to say. The muttering and shuffling settled down after a few tense minutes and Feliks took it as a good sign.

"That's what I freakin' thought! Artallo, Kevin," He turned to address the shocked pair. "Throw Lancaster in the hole with my old man and, like, get this boring show on the road already." The men nodded and immediately hurried over to Lancaster's corpse and began to pick him up. Feliks nodded in approval and started back to his car with Toris at his heels. As he was sliding into his seat he turned his attention to the crowd.

"You guys can go." The door shut and the car started to back out.

Feliks toyed with his bracelets as they drove out of the cemetery. Only once they were on the road did the boy let loose. He threw his arms around the front passenger seat's headrest and let out a loud yell. "Oh my _god_ Toris, I was, like, so freakin' scared back there I thought I was gonna die!"

"You did great, Feliks." Toris said, glancing at him through the rearview mirror with a smile.

The blond groaned and flopped back into the back seat. He slumped down on the seat to the point that he was almost lying down and ran his manicured fingers through his hair. "I don't know how I got through it without freaking out! It was totally, like, the worst thing! The worst _possible_ thing!"

He stayed there for a moment before he lifted his hand out in front of himself, admiring the gorgeous ring that marked the current Boss of the Mensaur family. "Was I scary?"

"Even I was afraid." Toris said.

"You're just sayin' that." Feliks pouted.

The brunette shook his head, his eyes flicking to look back at his ward every now and then. "I mean it, Feliks. You were tough back there. I was worried you would hesitate on Lancaster but you did it without a second thought. I'm proud of you."

"That's _Boss_ Feliks, now." The teen teased.

"Of course, Boss Feliks."

Feliks stuck his tongue out. "You don't need to call me that if there's no one around. Anyway, I'm just glad we got outta there before anyone called my bluff."

Contrary to his threat, Feliks and Toris had come alone. They had a handful of men, most gathered from three newer gangs in the area and a handful of defectors from Feliks' father's control, but none of them had been there a moment ago. Feliks had instructed them to go out and finish robbing the last few marks he had set out for them, so he could be sure that he had enough money to arm them. With his father freshly dead, the surrounding gangs thought of the Mensaur family as being deeply weakened. No one would expect them to be mobilizing for a takeover, much less under the direction of the old Boss' wayward son.

Feliks had the element of surprise on his side, but that wouldn't last long. It was only a matter of days, more than likely less than a month, before the confusion of Boss Albin's death and Felik's own brash actions settled down and members from within the Mensaur family, as well as surrounding gangs, began working to muscle their way into power.

Truly, Feliks was lucky. If the Malettas weren't scrambling to pick their Boss' pride up off of the floor by finding whoever it was who put a hit on some of their people, they probably would have used this sudden lack of leadership that the Mensaurs were suffering as an opportunity to stamp them out completely.

"We're here." Toris announced as he turned the car  into the driveway of the Mensaur family's estate. The property was large, surrounded by Hemlock trees and a tall black metal gate. After the guard post and a long stretch of cobbled driveway was the Palladian-style mansion. Toris maneuvered the car smoothly up to park it outside of the front door and killed the engine. Normally he would just drop Feliks off and go to park in one of the many large garages, but due to the current situation he thought it better not to take his eyes off of his ward for any real period of time.

"Oh my god it's so _hot_!" Feliks cried as he stepped out of the air conditioned car and into the blanket of stifling summer heat. "It wasn't this bad earlier!"

"The news said today was supposed to let up." Toris grumbled, following Feliks into the house and sighing in relief when they entered the cool building.

"Hey, text Kevin and tell him to get Artallo and get over here. I need to talk to them about stuff." Feliks commanded. Toris nodded and started tapping the message so Feliks continued. "Also tell Hilda to make chicken for dinner tonight."

"What kind of chicken?"

"I dunno, whatever. Surprise me."

"Anything else?"

"Potatoes."

Toris nodded. The pair walked through the house until they came to a large, beautifully decorated room. After Toris was inside Feliks shut the door behind them and leaned his back up against the wooden door.

There was a moment of quiet before Feliks finally spoke. "Was this a bad idea?"

Toris looked up from his phone. "What makes you say that?"

The blond tapped his nails on the door a few times then pulled away from it to saunter toward the king size bed at the middle of the far wall. While he looked over the deep red comforter and piles of pillows in quiet thought, Toris went back to texting.

"My dad's dead." Feliks murmured and moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

"He is."

"Serves the old pervert right. I shot Lancaster though, I feel kinda bad."

Toris shook his head. "A Boss needs to be firm."

"The counsel's gonna be totally pissed." Feliks flopped onto his back and laid there with his arms out at his sides. He let out a long, exaggerated sigh. "This is too much work, I give up."

Toris frowned and stopped tapping his phone screen to give Feliks his full attention. "What do you mean, you 'give up?'"

"You heard me! I give up! Let's go on a cruise instead."

Toris sat down on the edge of the bed beside the blond. "Why?"

"Because cruises are friggin' awesome, duh!" Feliks snapped, rolling his eyes.

"Why are you trying to run away?" Toris asked gently.

Feliks shot a glare his friend's way but Toris' expression stayed soft. He puffed up his cheeks, trying to think of a snarky insult but came up short. Instead he said, "I'm not running."

He rolled to face away from Toris. "This is just boring."

"This was your idea, Feliks. I know you're nervous-"

The blond rolled back over and glared. "I am _so_ not nervous!"

"I know you're nervous but you can't get down on yourself this time. The Boss is gone," Toris took Feliks' hand in his own and slowly rubbed circles on the back with his thumb, "and we need to take responsibility for that. Don't worry, I'll make sure you're safe."

Feliks rolled his eyes and the corners of his mouth twitched up with a barely concealed smile. "Yeah, whatever. Fine."

Toris leaned over and brushed a few stray blond hairs from his face. When he went in for a kiss Feliks was more than happy to oblige. Their fingers laced together and Feliks' free hand moved to wrap around the other teen's back. Toris kissed his mouth a few times, then broke off to pepper a few kisses along his jaw line, then went back to his lips without any sense of urgency.

"I love you." He murmured. Feliks smiled before he pushed his tongue into the other's mouth to deepen the kiss. Toris reciprocated the action with zeal, rubbing his tongue against Feliks', gently sucking the appendage, then breaking the kiss to softly nibble at the blond's lower lip. Toris cupped the side of Feliks' face for a moment, enjoying the soft skin of his cheek against his palm, then slid his hand down the boy's thin neck, over his shoulder, his arm, his side, hip, and finally to his thigh. Feliks plunged his tongue back into Toris' mouth with a pleased hum.

Toris pushed Feliks' skirt up and looped his fingers in the side of his panties before he pulled back far enough from the kiss to talk. "Can I?"

Feliks pressed his lips together for a moment then rolled his eyes. "Give me your phone."

Toris released his grip on the other's hand and reached to grab his phone from the foot of the bed while Feliks wormed his way up slightly. He rolled over onto his belly and lifted his hips up off the bed, legs spread.

"Thank you~!" He chirped when Toris placed the phone into his waiting hand. "Don't take too long."

"I'll be as quick as I can." He slid the silky black panties down Feliks' thighs to expose his pert ass. Toris undid his own pants and pulled them down a little, then pulled his dick out. He was hard, a little drop of precum beading at the tip - a distinct difference from Feliks' completely soft cock. The brunette slid his cock in the cleft of Feliks' ass and leaned down closer and pressed his lips to the shell of Feliks' ear in a chaste kiss.

Feliks closed his eyes and smiled, enjoying the slightly ticklish feeling of his boyfriend's breath against his skin. Although the sex act itself wasn't interesting to him, this closeness was more than welcome.

Toris found a leisurely rhythm, rocking his hips slowly to grind against the other's soft skin. He let his eyes fall closed, nuzzled the blond's hair, inhaled the sweet scent of cherry shampoo. A slight smile tugged at his lips. Laughter bubbled from Feliks' throat when Toris gently nibbled the back of his neck, a soft chortle that was so sweet to the brunette's ears.

"I love you." Toris murmured, his movements picking up in speed a little as he focused on finishing himself off.

"I love you too." Feliks returned.

Toris leaned his forehead against Feliks' back and reached down to push the teen's ass cheeks together to get better friction. His breath hitched in his throat, the feeling of Feliks' silky skin on his sensitive cock heavenly, Toris was full of ardor, aching to please his lover but knowing it impossible. The blond's scent was intoxicating, warm and familiar. The dips and curves of his perfect body completely memorized and cherished. He thrust a few more times and came with a little shudder, spraying ropes of white across the small of Feliks' back.

"Yuck!" The blonde complained with a grimace. "Hurry up and wipe it up before it gets cold!"

Toris sniggered and forced himself up despite the urge to roll over, pull his boyfriend into a hug, and drift off to sleep.

 

 

 

A/N

I do not own: Axis powers: Hetalia, Aston Martin,  or Smith and Wesson guns.

I've been waiting so long to bring Poland into this you don't understand =w=


	10. Chapter 10

_Thunk--thunk--thunk_

Alfred had noticed a change in his brother and he didn't like it, even as used to it as he was at this point. Always, after snagging a new victim or two, Matthew would be sunny and nice to be around. He would cook and clean, willingly spend his time with Alfred, and even go out of his way to surprise the older man with gifts in the form of rare kisses and gentle sex. Over time, though, Matthew's mood would take a turn for the worse. The first thing to stop was the cleaning. Instead of shuffling around behind Alfred and picking up the debris he left behind with quiet complaints and gentle nagging, he would leave things where they laid. If Alfred brought the mess up in conversation or ever just tried to clean it himself, Matthew would become enraged and spend the rest of the day verbally berating him for everything he could think of. As the house quickly fell into disarray, the second thing to go was Matt's good mood. At first he would be snappish and mean but slowly that would taper off into long stretches of irritable quiet.

Alfred was a very gregarious person by nature so he actually preferred his brother snappish rather than silent and broody. Sometimes the things Matthew said were so deeply hurtful that Alfred would scurry off into their room and curl up under the covers, quietly cursing the man and willing himself not to cry, but still he preferred it. If there was one thing that truly upset him, it was being ignored; be it from his brother, the police, news reporters, or anyone in between. So when Matt stopped thinking to cook for him, no longer noticed the mess his brother went out of his way to make, and finally lapsed into a silence that burned with a terrible kind of wrath, Alfred decided that he had had enough.

"Matt!" He snapped, abruptly sitting up from his place on the floor where he had been laying the past hour. The only answer he received was the steady _thunk--thunk--thunk_ of his blade being thrust into the wooden skeleton of their futon's arm. Alfred called out to him again but got no answer. Matthew's phone, a cheap prepaid Wal-Mart cell, beeped to announce a new message.

Alfred bared his teeth a bit in anger. Ivan hadn't come by in a few days but god damn it he sure loved to text. He and Matt had been corresponding almost constantly and it took every ounce of self-control Alfred had not to run over to Ivan's home and spend a few clips on his miserable hide. Alfred sat there a moment longer, listening to the chimed tune of Matthew's phone and the sound of the blade ruining the furniture before he finally climbed to his feet, wincing at the pain that shot through his sleeping leg.

He stalked over to the futon and grabbed a hold of Matthew's hand. "Mattie god damn it, cut that shit out!"

Matthew's eyes narrowed into hateful slits but he didn't meet his brother's gaze. "Get away from me, Alfred."

"How the fuck long are you gonna sit there like some kinda fucking psycho, huh? You're breaking the god damned couch!" He released Matt's hand and slapped the piece of hole-filled furniture to emphasize his point.

"Leave me alone."

Alfred leaned forward, further encroaching into his brother's space. "I'm bored and your bullshit is irritating the hell outta me!"

" _Damn it, Alfred.._ " Matthew hissed. Alfred was slightly taken aback at his brother's rare usage of a curse word, but he decided to keep pushing. An argument was better than nothing.

"I worked my ass off to buy this god damned couch and you're just fucking ruininnnnaaaAAAAGH!" Alfred's tirade was cut short when Matthew slammed his knife down through his hand. The blade bit clean through, just shortly missing bone, and burrowed it's tip into the wooden arm. Alfred jerked back purely out of impulse and shrieked again when the blade yanked at his flesh.

"You fucking son of a bitch!" The older sibling roared, hauling back and punching Matthew directly in the mouth. He let the blade go long enough for Alfred to snatch it and yank it up and out of his hand. He threw it across the room and it clattered against the floor. "You fucking stabbed me _you son of a bitch_!"

Before he had any time to go on, Matthew jumped up and punched him in the jaw. Matt ran the back of his hand across the corner of his mouth to find that he was starting to bleed.

"If you chipped one of my teeth..." He muttered angrily.

Alfred, who had regained his balance and was rubbing his sore jaw, lifted his bleeding hand accusingly before spitting directly into Matt's face.

If Alfred's hand wasn't throbbing so horribly he would have laughed at the absolutely appalled expression on his brother's face. Matthew stood there a moment, as if at loss to how to react other than stare wide-eyed at the older man, then suddenly lunged forward and tackled him to the ground. He clamped his hands around Alfred's throat and squeezed as hard as he could, digging the pads of his thumbs into his brother's neck.

"How... Why would you even do that?! _Do you have any idea how disgusting that is_?!" He hissed through clenched teeth.

After the initial shock at being knocked down so suddenly, Alfred panicked for a second at the abrupt loss of air and painful pressure around his throat. He gasped and choked, kicking his legs and trying to pry his brother's hands from his throat. The tightening grip on his neck compressed the veins in his neck and god damn it his entire face hurt. His sore, bloody hand wasn't helping him get a good enough grip to pull Matt's hands off of him either. Squeezing his eyes shut Alfred took a moment to calm his mind's panicked shrieking. Getting too excited wouldn't do anything other than make his situation worse. He needed to think clearly. When his eyes finally cracked open (he only took some five seconds to center himself but it felt like much longer) he cast his gaze over his brother's body. Matthew was straddling him, his butt seated on Alfred's pelvis. He was leaning forward a bit to really put his weight into the choking and a ghost of a smile was forming on his lips.

 _Ready and, ow and, set and, go!_ Alfred thought before gathering all of his strength to buck his hips up, successfully knocking Matt's center of balance off. Matthew let out a small cry of surprise as he tipped forward and his grip loosened just enough for Alfred to pull himself forward hard enough to slam his forehead directly into Matt's mouth.

Matthew gave a sharp cry and clapped his hands over his mouth as he rolled over onto the floor. Alfred didn't waste a second, throwing himself up and rolling over to land another punch to his brother's face. The hit was mostly blocked by Matt's hands but it still hurt. Alfred sat there a moment panting and periodically coughing painfully due to the irritation at his throat.

After the pain had subsided a bit Matthew let his hands fall to his sides. He cast his gaze to meet Alfred's and cracked a smile, his teeth red with his own blood.

"You hit like a girl."

"Yeah and you couldn't choke a chicken."

"...What?"

"You know," Alfred explained, putting his hands together to wring an imaginary fowl's neck then winced in pain. "Like this. Ow, fuck."

Matthew draped his arm over his eyes and started to chuckle until it bubbled into a full-blown laugh. When it finally tapered off he moved his arm a bit to speak clearly. "I'm horny."

"Yeah me too." Alfred agreed and their eyes met for a second to make a silent agreement. Despite their soreness they both jumped up and rushed off to the bedroom.

 

* * *

 

Ivan knocked twice and was greeted with a loud "Go away!"

Of course, he walked right in.

"Learn English you stupid shit, I said 'go away!' Leave! Scram! Go home!" Alfred snapped from his place on the futon beside Matthew. The younger man looked up from stitching Al's hand wound shut to toss a small smile Ivan's way.

"Don't be rude." He looked back at Alfred when he said it, driving the needle he was using down into his brother's hand harder than necessary. Alfred yelped and tried to pull his hand away but Matthew kept a firm grip on it. "Don't pull, do you want it to heal badly?"

"No." Alfred grumbled.

"What happened?" Ivan asked, dropping the beige, frayed backpack he was carrying onto the floor. The contents of the bag clanked metallically.

"It ain't none of your god damned business." Alfred snapped, earning himself another extra-harsh stitch.

"We had a bit of an argument earlier, is all. It's really nothing." Matthew assured their guest, who was in the process of making himself comfortable on the beanbag chair and lighting up per usual. Ivan chuckled and nodded in acceptance of the explanation.

"Why are you here anyway?" Alfred asked.

"Why, Matvey messaged me earlier today, asking me to come over for a hunt. Did he not tell you?"

Alfred's jaw tightened and he snapped his gaze over to his brother, who was just finishing up stitching his hand. His handiwork was second only to a professional, the wound would leave just a slight scar. "We're going out today and you didn't tell me?"

Matthew frowned slightly in thought. "I didn't? No, I told you a little before I texted Ivan, you probably just weren't listening to me. As usual."

"I-!" The older sibling started, then his eyes opened wide as a memory washed over him. Matthew crawling out of bed at noon, so much later than usual, a scowl on his lips and hate in his eyes. That curly blond hair a disheveled mess, a little smear of blood left over on his cheek from the night before's rough-enough-to-make-Alfred-cry sex. He remembered getting slapped upside the head, not really hard enough to hurt but enough to wake him fully, and Matthew saying something... Something... Alfred hadn't wanted to get up just then, he had whined loudly for just "five more minutes," and all the while Matthew was saying something in his sleep-thick voice... 'I'm going to gut someone today, Alfred. Let's hope it isn't you.'

Matthew fingers snapping in front of his face yanked him back from his thoughts. "Alfred, hey Earth to Alfred. You burn out a fuse?"

The man in question shook his head vigorously as if to dislodge the distracting memory, then slapped the hand out of his face. "Yeah, yeah, I'm cool. When are we going?"

"What time is it?"

"Six-thirty." Ivan piped up.

Alfred leaned back in his seat and started wrapping his hand in gauze. "What are we going for?"

"Whatever looks good, I suppose." Matthew replied, pushing himself up to stand and kicking a stray soda can across the floor. He then turned his attention to Ivan. "Is there anything you'd prefer?"

"I don't do women."

"Faaaaag!"

Ivan ignored Alfred's comment, taking one last drag from his cigarette and dropping the butt into a random can that was sitting near him. The cherry went out with an audible hiss in the warm backwash sludge that sat, tepid, at the bottom on the can. "We may need more than one. I am not a terribly greedy man, but one person spread between all of us sounds a bit unfulfilling."

"How's about you go to some other state and start up over there? Then there'll be plenty for everyone." Alfred suggested.

"Be quiet, Alfred. Go get our stuff, we'll just go out and see if we can find any couples." Matthew said, pushing himself up from sitting and walking slowly over to the other side of the room to find his shoes.

Alfred poked out his tongue playfully and threw himself from the couch to hustle into their bedroom. He rummaged about in the closet, finding all of their usual items. Camera, camera charger, a change of clothes for each of them, Matthew's knife case and taser, a first aid kit, and hand sanitizer. Once all of those things were thrown into a worn green backpack he went to the end table near their bed to get his gun and a few extra clips of ammo. He tucked the clips into the bag, then opened the weapon to be sure that there were no cartridges left over inside (he highly doubted it since he was sure to clean his gun every day, but he was a firm believer in gun safety), then double-check the safety before he pushed the Smith and Wesson into the waist of his pants.

As he was doing this, his lips pressed into a thin line as he thought. Maybe he could get Mattie to let him work alone with Ivan, and maybe a little "accident" could happen and rid Alfred of the man forever? Well, no, Mattie wasn't stupid, he would totally see through any ruse Alfred tried to pull since he had made his dislike of Ivan quite clear. Damn him and his big mouth! He should have just acted like he liked having Ivan around so Mattie wouldn't consider the chance of foul play.

Sighing softly, he slung the backpack over his shoulder and moseyed back out into the living room. Matthew took the bag from him and handed him his shoes. Ivan was standing near the door with a fresh soda in hand, sipping it every now and then as he waited for his idols to get prepared. Once they were all situated, they headed out into the evening sun.

"Which way are we going?" Matthew asked, not really directing the question at any one person. The sounds of their footsteps melded with the ever-present white noise of the city.

"There is an empty house on Snyder." Ivan piped up.

"By Church Avenue?" Alfred asked, and Ivan nodded. "How empty?"

"I have been keeping my eye on it, and I have not seen any vagabonds that would interrupt. The police in the area has been thin as well. I heard some gang members have been robbing banks around Queens so they are all probably trying to stay close to that area."

Matthew nodded and pushed his hands into the kangaroo pocket of his red hoodie, slumping a bit and casting a weary glance around the area, as if only just realizing the wide openness of the area or the amount of people who were out and about, presumably on their way home from a hard day's work. Noticing his brother's discomfort, Alfred threw his arm around the younger man's shoulders in an attempt to ease the vulnerability he was feeling.

"Maybe we shoulda waited a little longer?"

Matthew shook his head as if to say that he was fine, but at the same time slunk his right hand from his pocket in order to very lightly grasp the sleeve of Alfred's T-shirt between his thumb and forefinger. "It'll be dark by the time we find someone anyway, it's good we left so early. It'll give us more time with them."

"That is true." Alfred agreed, nodding sagely. "I love you, Mattie."

"I know."

The nearly inaudible sound of a shutter clicking caught Alfred's attention. Ivan was walking just before them and slightly off to the side with his camera in hand. "Did you just take a picture of us?"

"Da." Ivan said with a smile, snapping another photo. "Now kiss."

Matthew laughed lightly, but Alfred didn't take the request as lightly. "As if I'd even try in front of a freak like you! And you don't just kiss someone you fucking moron, those are earned."

"That's very right of you, Alfred." Matthew reinforced, lightly patting his brother's hand.

Alfred smiled and dislodged himself from his sibling in order to walk a short ways away to hit the cross walk button. Ivan tucked his camera back into his bag and went to stand closer to the younger sibling. A few other people, bored-looking pedestrians, came to stand near the crossing. Matthew pushed his hand back into his pocket and stood there worrying his bottom lip.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of being forced to listen to the excessively loud and painfully vapid conversation between a pair of gum-snapping teens, the light turned. The trio hurried across the road and turned left. The sun was starting to drop low over the concrete horizon and the crowds were beginning to thin out since that area wasn't one of the most frequented spots.

After some time of walking around and eyeballing couples for potential victims, Alfred patted Matthew on the shoulder. The younger man turned to look where his brother had nodded and tugged Ivan's sleeve to catch his attention. Across the street was a man and a woman, their steps swaying a bit as they made their way from a local bar, clearly intoxicated. The man had black hair cut into a short, blunt style. He was wearing a white button-up shirt under a dark brown jacket that ended just above his thighs, and a pair of dark-wash well-fitted jeans. The woman had long chestnut hair that was adorned with pink flower clips. Her amber eyes crinkled in the corners as she laughed when she almost tripped over her long white and pink skirt.

"What'cha think?" Alfred asked.

"I have always enjoyed Asian men." Ivan said.

"They're short." Matthew piped up. "It's... cute."

"She's got nice knockers." Alfred said with a grin, starting off down the walkway the way they had come. "Let's see where they're going."

With Alfred leading the way, the three men started off after the couple, being sure to remain just far enough back as to not arouse suspicion. After a few minutes of tailing along behind them, Alfred spoke up again. "So... this would be a lot easier with a car. We could just ride up on 'em and snatch them into it, ya know?"

"People would probably notice something like that." Matthew pointed out. "We never even did that when we did have cars for that reason."

"They will track your license plate and find you quickly." Ivan agreed.

Alfred shrugged. "Well whatever, I still think it'd be easier. But yeah, I suppose that's right. You know... it'd be cool if it wasn't illegal. It's not like a couple people here and there is really hurting anything."

"Oh I agree." Ivan said, producing a thick cloud of smoke as he spoke. "Will it be the end of the world if a cashier never makes it home? Honestly what we are doing is quite good, there are too many humans alive to support."

"We wouldn't have to sneak around." Alfred said.

"We would not need to go through so much trouble." Ivan nodded.

"We could just do it right here, on the street! Wouldn't that be sweet? Just drop someone," Alfred made a hitting motion with his hand, then pointed his fingers in the shape of a gun at his invisible target, "and blam! Right there on the sidewalk. Heh heh, that'd be cool."

"I would gladly pay for a permit." Ivan chuckled, "Even if there was only two weeks a year to hunt, that would be fine."

"Hey," Matthew chimed in. "Guys-"

"Fuck dude, think of how expensive that would be though!" Alfred exclaimed, ignoring his brother's softly-spoken words.

"Da, I am sure it would be awful on our finances."

"Alfred, Ivan, they're-"

Alfred shoved his hands into his pockets and bounced a bit as they walked. "Shit dude what if they made you pay per person? I'd love to just go into some place like a mall or something and just mow some crowds down like..." He lifted an imaginary rifle, "Ra-ta-ta-ta-tat-tat! 'Oh no someone save us'! Chicka-chick kaBLOW! But that'd be too expensive if I had to pay per head."

"You guys, listen to-"

Ivan laughed. "I do not think they would ever allow something like that, even if singles were legal."

"They're getting away!" Matthew yelled to the best of his ability, slapping Alfred on the shoulder. True to what he said, the pair had turned in to a small alley.

"Well fuck, you shoulda said something earlier." Alfred huffed, earning himself a glare that he deftly ignored. "Come on, let's go get 'em."

The three men jogged across the street and cluttered at the opening of the alley, peeking around the corner to look for their wayward prey. The man had his date pressed against the wall and kissing her deeply.

"How are we going to have them come with us?" Ivan whispered.

"I got this." Alfred replied. He pushed his hands into his pockets, took a deep breath to collect himself, and sauntered down the alley.

"Heyo!" He called to the couple, nodding his head in greeting. The pair yanked away from one another, faces red, and turned their attention to the intruding blond.

"Yes?" The woman asked.

As Alfred went about trying to convince the pair to come with them, Ivan turned to Matthew and said: "Do you think it will work?"

"Maybe. Hopefully. He's not the brightest but he's got a way with people, and they're really drunk." He motioned idly to the way the pair were swaying slightly where they stood. "I think we've got a good chance."

Ivan nodded and sized Alfred up. The man was motioning with his hands, occasionally pointing to himself, the couple, and down the road. "He is very convincing. What is he saying?"

Matthew shrugged. "We don't have a script or anything, he usually just wings it. If he gets them to say yes, he'll have picked out names for us though."

Ivan nodded and within a couple more minutes Alfred was leading the pair toward his own companions. Matthew raised his eyebrows in a silent request for information and Alfred nodded as if to say 'wait a minute.'

"These are my partners Kelso," Alfred motioned to Matthew, then Ivan. "And Burkhart. I promise questioning wont last long, we've just got a few things we'd like to ask you about the recent robberies."

"Officer Foreman, we've been drinking quite a bit tonight. I'm not sure if we're-" The woman began but Alfred cut her off.

"No worries ma'am, if our intelligence is on - and it is - you two are some of the best people to ask at the moment, seeing as you frequent this area. Please," he held an arm out to usher them forward. "Come this way."

Still somewhat unsure, the pair fell into line beside the charismatic blond and began walking. While he steered them down the street Alfred turned to mouth to Matthew, 'Cops.' Matt nodded and relayed the message to Ivan, who frowned in surprise that the couple, however drunk they may be, would believe a group of three men in street clothes without a car were actually police officers.

"It's all about presentation." Matthew whispered. "Or so Alfred says. If you go in like you own the place, people just think you do."

The walk to the old building was short and thankfully free of hang-ups. Once they had arrived, Alfred asked the couple to stay where they were for just a moment and started explaining some half-cocked made up story to why they were there. Without needing to be told, Matthew was already ready with his trusty taser. He motioned for Ivan to drop the man, and the deed was done smoothly.

Once both of their newest victims were lying passed out on the ground, Alfred gave his group the run-down. "Okay so this guy is Kiku Mitsubishi," he lightly kicked the man's thigh, "and she's Mei. He's foreign his English is pure shit; I'm not sure if that matters to you, Ivan, but whatever.

"So how we doin' this?" He asked, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

"Well, if Ivan doesn't mind, I'd like to go in with him and watch." Matthew said.

"We could just all take them together." Alfred supplied.

Matthew frowned. "Three's a crowd, Alfred."

"I would not mind Alfred being there." Ivan stated.

Matthew shook his head. "No, no, that would get too crowded. Alfred, how about you just take her?"

It was Alfred's turn to frown. "You sayin' you don't want me in there with you?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying, yes." Matthew deadpanned, and Ivan had to stifle a giggle at Alfred's sharp reaction.

"Whatever then man. What-the-fuck- _ever_ , man." The older sibling snapped, throwing up his hands in frustration. "You two can just go be disgusting freaks for all I care, I don't wanna see your nasty shit anyway."

He cast a venomous glare Ivan's way as he bent over to heft the woman up into his arms. "Especially you, fucking commie garbage." He practically spat the last two words as if they were a foul taste in his mouth, then carried Mei away to a separate room.

Matthew shrugged lightly to Ivan, who was still stifling chuckles, and motioned for the taller man to help him carry their catch into a suitable area. Gladly Kiku couldn't be considered heavy by any stretch of the word so the burden was especially light between them. Once they had shuffled into a room, Ivan went about pushing some debris in front of the door while Matthew set their equipment far enough from Kiku not to worry about him getting a hold of anything, but close enough to be convenient.

"You can get started while I do this." Ivan offered, lifting a dirt-caked desk and carrying it over to the door. The leather of his dark brown gloves squeaked against the furniture's faux wood finish.

Matthew finished propping the man up against the wall with a slight huff of exertion, and when he stood up again he stretched until his back popped audibly. "No, I'd rather just watch you this time. I'll take him when you're done."

"I am not done until they are dead." Ivan pushed another few chairs in front of the door. Once the task was done he gave it a quick once-over and nodded in approval; there was no way the man would have time to dig himself through that mess before either Matthew or himself caught up with him.

"I generally prefer them that way."

"But they do not scream when they are dead." Ivan pointed out, shrugging his jacket off and draping it over a table. "Where is the fun in that?"

 

The taller man's gaze landed directly on him and for the first time with Ivan, Matthew felt judged. He dropped his eyes to the floor and tried his best to just shrink up and disappear. "I... I like them... quiet." All at once he wanted to be alone with their catch, to open Kiku up and bury himself inside and just hide from everyone until his irritating brother decided to come dragging him back to reality. But who was this guy anyway? This guy who just came into their space and starting tromping around like he owned-

A large, strong hand clapping him on the back yanked Matthew from his train of thought. When his eyes met Ivan's he was surprised to see the same warm smile. "You will need to demonstrate some time, you make it sound like much fun."

Matthew stared up at him a moment, shocked by the reaction, then pushed his hands into his hoodie pocket and turned his attention back to the man on the floor. Ivan moved closer to Kiku and lit a cigarette before speaking through a mouthful of smoke. "Let us begin."

Ivan lowered himself to the floor, straddling the man's thighs, and took another drag from his cigarette. He reached out and pulled the sleeping man's right eyelids open, aimed, and pushed the red-hot cherry against the center of the iris. Kiku was ripped back to consciousness almost instantly, his limbs flailing as a half-choked shriek ripped it's way from his lips. Before he had a chance to fully scream Ivan clamped his hand over Kiku's mouth, effectively silencing him.

Still grinding the cigarette into the man's eyes Ivan said: "I am going to torture you, and I will not be stopping until you ask for death. Do you understand?"

Kiku pushed against the man's broad chest to no avail, he was far too large and solid to be knocked off balance so easily. Ivan retracted the cigarette and repeated himself, not so much looking for a real answer as he was just making sure that the man had heard him. Matthew looked around for a place to sit and decided on just hopping up onto the surface of one of the old desks that were shoved up against the door.

"Why would you do that? Waiting until they ask, I mean."

"Because it is more fun that way." Ivan explained with a light chuckle, using his free hand to squeeze the dirtied tip of his cigarette off before placing it back between his lips and lighting it. "Most people need to suffer for very long time before they ask to die. I want to rip him apart, humiliate him, because there is nothing more beautiful than a broken man."

He snatched Kiku by his hair, yanking his face up to look into his eyes. Using his free hand he took a drag from his smoke. "I want him to wallow in the mud and eat shit." He turned to Matthew and smiled handsomely, light dimples dipping in his cheeks. "Metaphorically, of course."

"What if they never ask?"

"Then they will die very slowly, very painfully." He said, then turned his attention back to his captive. Kiku was frozen in place by fear, his burned eye clamped shut and watering heavily. Ivan stood up and took a moment to roll his shoulders and crack his neck, then do a few simple upper body stretches.

"I do not want to pull something. I need to be able to work tomorrow." He explained.

Kiku was halfway to his feet and heading for the door before his escape was cut short by Ivan landing a hard kick to his face. He fell over with his hands covering his face, a harsh string of what was probably cursing spilling from his lips. Unbothered by the man's attempt to bolt, Ivan reached over into his coat and pulled out the same long pipe he had fought Alfred with. He stood over the man a moment, expression neutral, then swung the weapon down hard onto Kiku's left knee.

The metal slammed into his leg with a dull crack of his knee snapping. Bolts of white hot agony exploded from the site and Kiku let out a loud, strangled shriek. Any attempts he may have made to speak were crushed by his harsh, uneven breathing as he curled in on himself, his hands instantly going to attempt to protect the already ruined joint. The skin hadn't been broken so there was no blood, but when he tapped his fingers against the spot his stomach turned when he felt his kneecap was clearly shattered.

"Do not try to run." Ivan instructed, tossing his pipe onto the floor near where Matthew was sitting. He took a moment to go and dig in the bag he brought. He chose a fairly large pair of scissors and went back to Kiku, then set them down just within his own reach. He rolled the gasping man over with his boot and dropped his full weight suddenly onto his stomach. Kiku cried out weakly and tried to scurry away to no avail. Ivan snatched him by the jaw and tried to pull it open. "Open your mouth."

Kiku shook his head 'no' and before he could react Ivan punched him square in the mouth. "Open it or I will knock your teeth out and it open myself."

From the scissors on the floor, Kiku could guess what he had planned. Despite the pain of his split lip he shook his head once again and clapped his hands over his mouth. Ivan smiled a little, glad to go about it the hard way. He snatched Kiku's wrists to wrench them forcefully up over his head and when he got a firm hold of them with one hand he immediately hit the man again.

"Open your mouth."

His eyes were streaming with tears and his body was shaking harshly but Kiku still shook his head. Of course Ivan punched him again and repeated the order. Each time Kiku would refuse to do what he was told, and each time he was rewarded with another blow to the face until Kiku was all but choking as he struggled to breathe through the blood pooling in the back of his throat and Ivan's glove was smeared with red. He finally released Kiku's wrists and pushed his clean hand through his silvery-blond hair with a sigh. He stood up and allowed Kiku to roll over onto his side to cough out the blood that had been in his mouth.

"You are very... stubborn." Ivan murmured. He went to dig in his bag once more and found a hammer and a few handfuls of large nails that he put into his pocket. When Kiku saw him coming back he let out a terrified yelp and began attempting to pull himself away while ignoring the searing pain in his knee.

It was all very funny - how did this man expect to escape when he was half blind and suffering a broken leg? If he would just surrender and beg for death the pain would stop. His stubbornness was great for Ivan though, he got more enjoyment out of a hard break.

Ivan pulled his camera out of his left pocket and snapped a picture before easily catching up with Kiku's trembling form and stomping hard on his busted knee. Kiku's scream was more animal than human and Ivan saw that he had, in fact, knocked a few of the man's teeth out of place. He snatched Kiku by the hair and drug him kicking and yelling over to the wall and forced him to sit up. He took Kiku's left hand and pulled it down so that he could keep it immobile by pressing his knee on it. The dark haired man tried to struggle against him but he was exhausted and hurt so badly that there was no way he could have gotten out of Ivan's grasp.

"Y-yamete kudasai." Kiku managed to get out through a mouthful of blood.

Ivan looked at him a moment with his eyebrows raised. "I do not know what that means." He said and pressed Kiku's hand up against the wall with a nail poised in the center. Kiku's good eye snapped to it and understanding dawned on his face.

"Iie! Onegai shi- I... I... Please do not!" He managed to say, thrashing with newfound energy.

It was actually getting fairly hard to hold the man in place so Ivan quickly aimed and brought the hammer down onto the nail, driving the sharp metal through the man's flesh and into the wall behind. Kiku screamed again and struggled to get away while spouting a mix of Japanese and English requests for Ivan to cease. Ivan ignored him and drove the nail as deeply into the wall as he could before taking putting the hammer in his mouth to grab a few more nails. He replaced the hammer with the nails and positioned one against Kiku's palm and drove it in. It broke through the fleshy part of his thumb and went on through into the wall as smoothly as the first. Another nail was positioned over the pinky joint. When it was forced in it got caught halfway through the knuckle, wringing a hoarse whine from Kiku's lips.

Ivan pursed his lips in concentration and began tapping the nail only hard enough for it to slowly push it's way into the space between bones. Once he was sure it was seated as evenly as possible in the joint Ivan gave it one more hard hit, driving it straight through the tendon, skin, and finally the wall. He took another nail and drove it clean through the bone of Kiku's middle finger, then through the index, and added one more to the palm for good measure before finally letting up off of the man's free hand and pushing it up against the wall to start all over again.

When he drove the final nail in Kiku barely made a sound, his cries having tapered off into little yelps made through sobs and hiccups. Ivan stood up and took a step back to admire his work. Yes, yes, this was very good. With about six or seven nails through each hand, the man wasn't going to be fighting anything off anytime soon. The tall blond took out his camera and walked around a bit to find a good angle to truly capture the aesthetic beauty of his work.

While he was lying on the floor to Kiku's right, trying to angle the shot just right, Matthew cleared his throat to get his attention. Without looking away from the frame, Ivan said: "Yes, Matvey?"

"I think he's passing out."

The camera flashed and Ivan army crawled a little closer to Kiku to get a better look at his face. Matthew was right; his eyes were fluttering closed  bit by bit and he had slumped down as far as he could with his hands nailed to the wall. Ivan frowned. It wouldn't be any fun if this guy wasn't awake to feel everything! Getting up to a squat he shuffled over to Kiku to grab his jaw and lift his head up. He leaned in close, until his lips were just beside the man's ear.

"Wake up."

There was no reaction so Ivan tried a little harder. "WAKE UP!"

Kiku jumped, startled back into consciousness by the sudden yell. The abrupt movement jostled his wounds but the man barely had enough energy to stay awake, much less make a fuss greater than a small groan. Satisfied that the man had finally woken, Ivan took advantage of his groggy state to pry Kiku's jaw apart and then jammed as much of the hammer that would fit in horizontally to keep it open.

Ivan twisted it harshly. The claw drug across the top of his mouth, ripping the sensitive skin of the hard palate, and with one final yank anchored itself vertically with the prongs embedded at least half an inch into the flesh. Dark blood ran down the metal and poured out over Kiku's jaw as he shook his head to try and dislodge the tool but only managed to drive it deeper.

When he was sure that the metal wouldn't fall out on it's own, Ivan reached out and grabbed the scissors. Kiku made a hoarse sound and kicked his legs weakly when the man took firm hold of his tongue and forced it out of his mouth and positioned the cold metal against his tongue.

"Ivan, wait-" Matthew began just as the sharp blades slid together cut through Kiku's tongue. Kiku gasped in pain just as blood started to pour from the wound and immediately began to choke. He coughed harshly, trying to force air back into his lungs but only succeeded in inhaling more blood and burst into another harsh coughing fit.

Ivan recoiled a bit in surprise and behind him Matthew said: "I should have thought of that before."

Ivan moved forward, hesitated, and reached out again only to pull back, torn between trying to stop the man's premature death and already knowing that there was nothing he could do. Kiku's attempts to cough up the blood from his lungs had already gone from panicked hacks to short gurgles rumbling in his throat as he struggled to yank his hands free, the terror of suffocation greatly outweighing the pain in his fingers. Ivan let out a frustrated sigh as he rose to his feet, then turned to address Matthew.

"I... did not know that would happen." He confessed.

"It's an easy mistake." Matthew supplied with a small, but reassuring, smile.

"Nyet." The man furrowed his brow in frustration, and behind him Kiku managed to force another cough out. Bloody spit flew out from his mouth and splattered over his jeans and the floor. Although the bleeding from his wound had already slowed slightly there was still enough to be forced down his throat when he sharply inhaled between coughs.

"I had... how do I say..." Ivan thought for a moment. "A view of what I wanted. An art view for a picture. And now it is ruined."

Matthew didn't get it. A kill was a kill, it didn't matter how you did it, or if it all came out according to plan. He never had any vision of the finished product in his mind when he started, he just did what felt natural.

Ivan shook his head and let out a frustrated huff. "I need to start over completely, with a new canvas. This is... ruined."

He turned his attention back to Kiku, who appeared to be passing out. "What a waste. Do you want him?"

Matthew adverted his gave. "Um, no, I'm okay...."

"I thought you were going to take over when I was done."

"Well, yeah, um... I guess..." He drummed his fingertips on the desk and cast a few quick glances at Kiku's body. "It's just... kind of... with you in here..."

There was a stretch of quiet. "...embarrassing."

Although Matthew had been all for doing this earlier, now that he and Ivan were both there together alone, the idea felt mortifying. Maybe if he had Alfred there, not to say or do anything, just nearby, he could but... He was uncomfortable and self conscious as it was now.

"That is disappointing." Ivan said and Matthew flinched. "But it is not a problem, there is always next time. Should we leave him here?"

"What do you usually do with them?"

"The mistakes? Normally I take them out and bury them somewhere. I do not want such poor quality work connected to my name." Ivan explained as he went about picking his tools up and putting them back into his bag. He slung it over his shoulder and looked disapprovingly at the dead man across the room.

"I don't want to do all of that work right now. I'll just make him look like mine." Matthew replied, hopping off of the desk and unsheathing his knife.

 

* * *

 

Alfred was standing with his back leaned up against the building's brick wall and his hands in his pockets. He was gazing at the wall opposite himself, clearly zoned out, his tapping foot betraying both his boredom and irritation. The sound of footsteps approaching drew his attention so he lazily hefted himself away from the wall and turned toward Ivan and Matthew. He checked his watch.

"That was quick." He suspiciously eyed both men to check for any signs of infidelity, frantically hoping that nothing had happened between them.

"I made a mistake." Ivan said with disappointed look on his face.

"He died too fast." Matthew clarified.

Alfred blinked in surprise. "How the hell did you do that?"

Ivan shrugged and took a few steps past Alfred toward the street. "I overestimated what I could do before he died. It has happened before, it will happen again."

"Christ, what kinda fuckin' retard fucks up that bad?" Alfred cackled.

It took a large amount of self control for Ivan not to turn around and punch him in his idiotic face. He was frustrated enough as it was with his own lack of foresight so having Alfred's irritating voice mocking him so openly was very nearly a step over the line. He took a deep breath, reminded himself that he would be able to take his frustrations out on the man as long as he played his cards right, and threw on a disarming smile.

 

He turned around to face the brothers and said., "You are quite skilled, Alfred. I have much to learn from you."

"Damn straight." He said smugly. "Next time you're gonna do something stupid ask me first! We've been doing this a long time and hell, some people have it and some obviously don't. You gotta-"

Ivan all but tuned him out as the trio began their walk back to the brothers' house with Alfred taking the lead. Ivan chipped in here and there, each agreement and compliment he gave to the man making him want to vomit, and took the opportunity to walk closer to Matthew. He looked distracted so Ivan gently tapped him on the arm to get his attention.

The younger blond jumped slightly and cast an inquisitive look at Ivan.

"What is wrong?" Ivan asked quietly enough not to distract Alfred from his diatribe.

Matthew shook his head and didn't say anything. They walked a little longer before Ivan tried again by tapping him on the shoulder.

"It's nothing." Matthew insisted.

Ivan decided not to press the issue. Matthew was a strange one, so there was a chance that nothing was actually wrong and Ivan was just misinterpreting his demeanor. He doubted it, he was normally quite astute at picking up the feelings of people around him, but he had only known Matthew for a short time. He was normally quiet anyway, so maybe he just got like this after a kill. If there was something wrong he was sure that Alfred would have noticed and demanded that Matthew divulge.

"Hey! You even listening to me?" Alfred's aggravating voice snapped Ivan out of his thoughts. He swallowed his immediate reply of _absolutely not_ and forced another smile.

"I am sorry, I got distracted. Please, continue."

 

 

A/N

 

Wow that was fast eh? NOPE! This chapter was like 90% done foreeeever and just hasn't been out until now because I rewrote chapter nine three times! I sometimes update story progress on my author page (which usually amounts to I suck and it's on it's way sorry) and I also made a tumblr blog for my writing if you're into that sort of thing.


	11. Chapter 11

The first days without a dealer were not too bad for Arthur. When divvied up evenly and in the smallest amounts he needed to get a slight high, the few small stashes hidden around his flat lasted for a while. A couple of uppers in the morning, benzos or dissociatives during the day, downers at night to help him sleep.

Presently he was sitting at his desk at work, staring blankly at a leaning stack of overdue paperwork. Thankfully his secretary had sorted and filled out the bulk of the documents so all he had to do was read and sign them, but the amount of days he had skipped out on still made the task a daunting one. He dropped his head in his hands and sighed, then grabbed his mug and took a huge swig of coffee.

As much as he hated the stuff, he was running short of stimulants and coffee was a more powerful pick-me-up than tea. He had been settling for lesser highs a lot lately: A handful of caffeine pills with coffee to wash them down. Sleeping pills and booze. Cough medicine. Some Vyvance and Xanax he had found in his sofa's cushions. A short stint with a can of hairspray that left him questioning his life choices.

Arthur took a paper from the pile, careful not to let his shaking hands knock the entire stack over. He knew that skimming through paperwork was a bad idea but he could not bring himself to focus enough to read everything in depth. He read the page aloud to himself, a slow whisper that tripped, faltered, skipped back a few lines and tried again. Although the air of his office was pleasantly conditioned, Arthur felt hot. His heart fluttered in his chest, an uneasy, jittering beat that made him wince.

He scribbled his name onto a document and set it atop the significantly smaller stack of completed papers. Another document for him to sign. Words jumbled and fuzzed out grey. Arthur shook his head hard, trying to jolt the haze away. His black leather chair squeaked when he leaned over his work, throwing himself into it with increased fervour. If he was working hard, he might stop blanking out. Payrolls, receipts, DJ bookings, an endless stream of fees.

Fees...?

Yes, of course! Alfred and Matthew owed him rent. Arthur had not seen them in days since he was sure Max, or at least one of his underlings, was watching. The Brit went between work and home, relying on texting and phone calls to find a new dealer. Home, work, home, work, and endless and boring cycle.

The world faded grey and black. Numbers blurred together.

Arthur jolted awake with a snort. His mobile buzzed on the desk, the steady vibration digging into his brain. A fresh headache blossomed as he answered it. "Hello?"

"Did I wake you?" His mother asked sceptically. "It shouldn't be even three o' clock over there, why are you sleeping?"

"Just taking a short nap, mum." Arthur mumbled, scrubbing his face with an open palm.

The line was quiet for a moment before Mrs. Kirkland spoke again. "Why haven't you rang us? Your father is livid!"

"I did yesterday-"

"In the middle of the night!" Mrs. Kirkland cut in.

"...and you didn't pick up." Arthur finished.

"Of course we didn't pick up! Your father and I need to be awake early for work, we don't stay up gallivanting around at ungodly hours! We brought you up better than this, Arthur. Your brothers are good, obedient sons. What happened to make you like this? You don't appreciate..."

Arthur rolled his eyes. His mother's complaints - constant nagging, boring as hell - faded off into a dull drone. Arthur laid his head down on the desk and closed his eyes, enjoying the cool wood against his cheek. "Mum, mum, listen to me. Calm down, I'm sorry I didn't call, but this is important."

"Asking for money again, I'm sure."

"I don't need a lot." Arthur said. "We're between quarters right now and I need a little to-"

"What happened to the last money we sent you?"

Arthur hesitated. He couldn't remember the last thing he had claimed to need a transfer for, and if his mother caught him lying now he could kiss any cash goodbye. It had been  some time ago... Rent, perhaps? Taxes? He couldn't remember if the issue was legitimate or if he had asked just to cover his personal expenses.

"I spent it. This isn't a cheap business to be in, mum." He finally said.

"How much money do you expect this family to throw away on your little hobbies?"

"It isn't a hobby, mum, it's a business."

Mrs. Kirkland scoffed. "As far as I'm concerned, as long as you're wasting time indulging in your 'lifestyle' in the States, you will never be a proper businessman."

Arthur gritted his teeth. "Must we go over this every time we speak?"

"How much did you need?" She asked after a long pause. The exasperation was apparent in her tone.

"Just a few thousand." Arthur murmured, dragging his face across the desk a little to the left to find a cool place to rest his cheek. His mother said something condescendingly but Arthur was too groggy to care, opting instead to allow her to complain until she ran out of steam. She mentioned something about giving him money and that was all he cared to listen to her go on about.

Arthur didn't know how long he was going to have to stay out of Max's way. Until the Maletta family found who they were looking for, or at least an easy scapegoat no doubt. But how long would Max himself be an issue? For how long would Arthur need to keep to his strict flat/office schedule? How much longer would he be expected to scrounge around for scraps just to get high, like a common street junkie? Arthur's eyes fluttered shut. He missed Alfred. The mere thought of the man's boisterous voice made Arthur's head hurt even more, but he couldn't ignore the accompanying ache in his chest.

The more constrained Arthur's life became, the more he found himself craving the younger man's attention.

"Are you listening to me?" A harsh feminine voice yanked Arthur out of his thoughts.

"I'm sorry, I got busy with some papers..." He said, scooting his cheek to the right since the place it was resting had become warm.

"Honestly I would have thought you would at least pay attention when it comes to funding your nonsense. I tried to transfer some money but it won't go through."

Arthur frowned and sat up straight. "What do you mean?"

"The site says that money transfers aren't possible right now, I'm not sure why. Have you spoken with your bank?"

"Everything was fine yesterday... I'll call you back, mum." Arthur said and hung up without waiting for her response. Although being so abrupt would probably make her angry, he was in no mood to listen to her go on and on about how much more successful his brothers were. Worse yet, she could try to put his father on the line. Arthur's mother didn't agree with or respect his life choices, but she was civil about it. His father was a much harsher man.

Everything Arthur did was a mistake in the man's eyes. Dr. Kirkland had been livid when Arthur dropped out of Cambridge after three years in favor of backpacking all across Europe. He ranted and raved when Arthur came back with tattooed and full of piercings. He threatened to disown his son when Arthur announced that he was moving to the United States with the intention of following some nebulous music career. On Arthur's final day in Britain, just before he got on the plane, he told his parents that he was gay. Dr. Kirkland sighed, exasperated, and told Arthur to get this "nonsense" out of his system and come back when he was ready to be a proper member of the Kirkland family.

Arthur's head nodded, drooped, almost sunk back down to the desk before his personal banker answered the phone. "I've been trying to reach you since yesterday! Don't you ever check your voice mail?"

"I hadn't realized I had any." Arthur said. "Anyway, what the hell is going on with my account? I was trying to get some money transferred but it won't go through."

"You really haven't heard?"

"Obviously I haven't." The Brit grumbled. "What are you talking about?"

"Three of our bank's branches got robbed in only a few days."

"What?!"

"Calm down, calm down, we're going to reimburse you for anything that was lost. It's just going to take a few weeks."

Arthur frowned. " _Weeks_?"

"A lot of people are on the waiting list. We're working as fast as we can."

Arthur let his head fall to the desk with a dull thump. Of course something like this would happen. When it rains it pours, certainly. "Call me the moment you have things sorted out."

He hung up and stared at the far wall, not truly seeing the framed posters that decorated it. The remnants of his short stint as the lead guitarist in his own band, back when his clubs were shiny and new. Before he ever met Alfred, around the same time he started doing business with his old colleague Francis. He chuckled flatly. He almost missed those days.

More than that though, he missed getting properly high. Arthur stood up with a grunt of effort. He felt jittery, weak, and sick. The digital clock on the opposite wall read 3:47 PM. Arthur pulled his bag from under his desk and rummaged around inside of it. Fifteen dollars, three Adderall clattering pathetically at the bottom of a bottle, and a small bag of marijuana.

"I must have more than that..." He murmured, digging deeper but finding nothing. He pulled a few things out, becoming increasingly frustrated, then finally dumped all the bag's contents out on the floor. "You have got to be kidding me."

He needed a new dealer, and he needed one now.

 

* * *

 

"You look like shit." Francis stated.

"Is that all you ever have to say to me?" Arthur said through gritted teeth after he flopped down in a large armchair.

Francis shrugged from his place lounging on the couch opposite. "If it makes you feel any better, I actually mean it this time."

Arthur held his tongue. He didn't come here to argue with the man. After taking a few quiet moments to control his temper, he spoke. "I need someone to buy from."

"We've already talked about this. I can't help you, I don't sell anymore."

"I wasn't asking you to."

Francis frowned. "Then why are you here?"

"You must know someone." Arthur leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

"My girls and I buy from the Malettas, like everyone else."

"It doesn't need to be cheap."

"I don't know anyone."

"It doesn't need to be great quality. I don't care if it's some homemade junk." Arthur pushed. As long as it got him high he didn't care much for the details.

"Arthur-"

The man in question stood abruptly. His nerves were raw, screaming with need, and it took nearly all of his self control not to yell at the older blond. "Jesus Christ, man, look at me! I need something, I've been living on scraps for days! I'm going to start full-blown withdrawal soon for fuck's sake."

Francis looked up at him, his expression neutral, his head resting against his hand. His demeanor was so unfettered by Arthur's outburst that it actually angered the younger man. Any other time, Arthur would have never shown any weakness to anyone, much less Francis, but the pain was beginning to become intolerable. To have the man practically ignore his obvious suffering shot a white hot blast of anger straight into his chest.

"Sit down." Francis said with a sigh. Only when Arthur obeyed did he continue. "I know a guy..."

"Thank god." Arthur nearly laughed.

"I would never send someone to him unless it was absolutely necessary, Arthur. He is not a good man." Francis said.

"I can handle a drug dealer. He can't be worse than the Malettas." He scoffed.

"I mean it, Arthur. I've had issues with him before."

"Do I look helpless to you?" Arthur snapped.

"Don't trust him, is all I am saying. He's not a kind man." Francis replied. He pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped the screen a few times. He looked at Arthur, his thumb poised over the screen, ready to send a message. "Are you sure you want to go to this guy? I heard that the quality is very low."

"I don't have any other options."

Francis sent the message.

 

* * *

 

Arthur stood outside unit 234 in an apartment building on Cherry Street. The building was an old, shabby thing with more than it's fair share of litter and underprivileged children running about unattended, five stories tall, nestled amongst a row of practically identical buildings. When Arthur knocked a dog in another unit started barking. He didn't need to wait long - just as he lifted his fist to knock again he was interrupted by the metal clank of several locks, and the door opened a crack.

"Francis sent you?" A man asked suspiciously.

"Yeah, he messaged you half an hour ago."

"You alone?"

"Obviously." Arthur huffed, and the door opened a little more.

"Hurry up and get in here so I can lock up."

Arthur slipped into the dim apartment. It didn't look much better inside than the rest of the building. He hung back and waiting for the man to engage all the locks, then nodded to him in greeting. "You're Jack, then?"

The man, a skinny redhead dressed in a baggy pair of jeans and loose band shirt, eyed him head to toe - a quick flit of his gaze - then offered his hand with a thin, yellowed smile. "That's me! You're Arthur, I imagine. What did you need?"

"What do you have?" Arthur gave the man's clammy hand a quick shake.

"I got ice - make it myself so it ain't gonna be as good as the Malettas' shit. You wouldn't be here if that were an option though. Come on over here and sit down." Jack said, motioning toward the couch in the cramped studio apartment. "I can sell you dope, pills, and weed too."

"What do prices look like?" Arthur asked, taking a seat.

"Don't get excited now, I ain't ripping you off. I don't do that shit - ask anybody, they know me. It ain't cheap, though. It's dangerous working behind the Malettas' backs, I'm sure you get that." Jack sat down on the far end on the couch. One of his hands migrated to idly pick at the already scabbed skin of his arm.

"Do you take trades?" Arthur asked hesitantly. "It's not like I'm broke or anything, I'm just between spending money right now."

Jack considered it. "Depends on what you're offering."

"How much will this get me?" Arthur asked, referring to the three large rings that adorned his fingers. They were all finely made, with gold bands and two of them inlayed with precious stones. Arthur didn't care about losing them, it wasn't like he couldn't just buy more. He had an entire section of his bedroom's walk-in closet dedicated to accessories as well. "I want a little bit of everything."

Jack leaned closer to inspect the jewelry. His eyes, consumed by jet black pupils with a thin ring of muddy brown around them, widened a bit with surprise. "These are real nice, yeah I'll take them. Just put them on the coffee table while I go get everything."

The trade did not take long. Jack did a very basic appraisal of Arthur's rings' worth, then weighed even amounts of each drug that he had available and put them in separate bags. He put those smaller bags together in a larger one, and gave it to Arthur.

"Would it be alright... if I use your bathroom?" Arthur asked. The idea of using this sketchy guy's restroom to get high was like a punch straight to his ego, but the ever-increasing pain of withdrawals trumped his pride.

Jack pushed the rings into his pants pocket and nodded. "Go ahead, I'd rather have you shooting up here than out in the street. I'm a nice guy, ask anyone. Down the hall, second door on the right."

 

* * *

 

"It's like you're _trying_ to get shot." Alfred remarked from his place lounging on the couch. It was more habit than malice at this point - he didn't even bother to look away from the TV when he spoke.

"I would not expect you to know the superiority of vodka." Ivan shrugged.

Alfred craned his head around to shoot a glare the man's way. "Vodka is nasty rubbing alcohol bullshit. Whisky is the best booze."

"Vodka is versatile, it can be mixed with anything." Ivan said.

"Whiskey doesn't need to be mixed to taste good." Alfred countered. "Mattie! Get in on this. Which is better: whisky or vodka?"

Matthew looked up from the notebook he had been writing in. "I prefer beer. Stop distracting me, I'm trying to balance our money and I can't do that if you drag me into your arguments every five minutes."

Ivan wrinkled his nose. "Beer tastes bad."

A loud knocking at the door startled the trio. Matthew and Alfred cast one another short glances and Alfred's hand moved toward the gun lying on the floor beside the couch before Arthur's voice rang out. "Open the god damned door, I know you're home!"

"Yeah, yeah, keep your pants on old man!" Alfred hopped up and went to open the door. The moment it was unlocked Arthur barged in, all confidence and swagger, obviously high out of his mind, and threw his arms around Alfred.

"Hey Arty, we haven't seen you in a while. Where have you been?" Alfred asked, gently working to pry the man off. Arthur squeezed Alfred tighter and rested his forehead against his shoulder, muttering something that was impossible to decipher.

Alfred turned his head to look at Matthew. "I'm gonna go lay him down, he's super high. I'm surprised he managed to get all the way here like this."

"Take a bowl, I don't want him puking on the bed again." Matthew said without looking up from his work.

Arthur still wouldn't let go so Alfred started backing slowly toward the hall, dragging the intoxicated man along with himself. When they were finally out of the room Ivan spoke. "Does that not worry you?"

"What?" Matthew asked distractedly, erasing a few bits.

"That man is very..." He searched for the right word. "Affectionate with Alfred."

Matthew looked up from his notebook. "Arthur? Don't worry about him, he's harmless. Besides, Alfred wouldn't do anything even if he tried. He's really serious about his cheating hang up."

Ivan fished around in his pocket a moment and got his cigarettes. "Alfred does not seem to mind the closeness much. That is surprising."

"Why would you say that?" Matthew asked, turning most of his attention back to his work.

"Alfred is quite... Conservative when it comes to anything that could be considered to be homosexual."

This time, Matthew laughed. "Has he been getting Bible-thumpy at you?"

Ivan nodded.

"He did the same thing when Arthur started coming over. He talked like he was a devout Christian and he was on a really hard anti-drug kick for weeks." Matthew explained. "Don't take him too seriously, he's just trying to push you away. He does that whenever I try to make friends."

"He is not religious?"

Matthew shook his head. "Not really, no. He believes in God but it doesn't mean much in his life. Obviously."

"I see..." Ivan murmured past the cigarette at his lips. There was a moment of quiet before he spoke again. "You said that he hates cheating. What about you?"

Matthew looked up from his work again. "What do you mean?"

"When you go hunting. Does he consider that to be cheating?"

"He does." Matthew sighed. "I've explained to him a million times that it doesn't count. Sex is just sex. I wouldn't mind if he and Arthur messed around sometimes, honestly. I'm not threatened by Arthur. It would keep Alfred out of my hair once in a while."

Ivan flicked his ash into an empty soda can. "You would not mind sharing him?"

Matthew shrugged and scribbled a few notes onto the paper. "It's not like I'm worried he'll like someone else better. If he did have sex with someone else at least he wouldn't be able to throw my... you know, 'actions' in my face anymore."

A slight smirk pulled at Ivan's lips. "I see."

Crosshairs focused on Ivan a moment, then pulled back to view both men. Max let out a small chuckle from his place lying on a liquor store's rooftop. He had only been following Arthur for a little less than a week and the man had already lead him to his marks! He wasn't completely sure that these were his guys, but Arthur had been going through a lot of pains not to go out anywhere, so having this be the first place he visited after searching for drugs was more than suspect. Max could just snipe them out now and skip any extra effort, but he wasn't completely sure that these were the guys. There could be more people inside, or Max could just be mistaken. He didn't care much about accidentally killing the wrong people, but if he did Arthur would surely never lead him to his real marks.

Max sat up and looked at his watch. It was almost dinner time! Now that he knew where they lived, he had no reason to stick around. He would swing by later to stake things out. Right then, he wanted fast food more than he cared about killing these guys.

 

 

* * *

 

I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia, Vyvance, Xanax, Adderall. This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to the lives of any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. I make no money from the writing of this story.

If you ever find yourself wondering "is this story abandoned?" keep in mind that I delete abandoned fics. As long as this is up, I'm working on it! I just suck! :D

As requested, I've started an ask blog on tumblr for this fic. If you had any questions about anything, feel free to pop over there and ask away! It's answered in character so that's always fun. http://thesunderaskblog.tumblr.com/


	12. Chapter 12

_Alfred's smell_.

The thick haze of sleep fell away bit by bit.

Cologne, gunpowder, fast food apple pastries, layered atop a masculine scent that Arthur never got enough of. There was another smell. Woodsy and faint, like rotting leaves downwind. It was slight, almost completely overpowered by Alfred, easy to miss and instantly forgotten. Arthur ignored it, focused on that Alfred smell, nuzzled his face against the source. It was soft, so, so soft. The feel of it was all around him, light, a little too warm. The sensation set his skin ablaze with delight, his nerves ultra-sensitive from the drugs.

_Alfred's smell_. _Alfred's smell_. _Alfred's smell_. Arthur was almost giddy as he burrowed further into that perfect aroma, right hand snaking down to palm his crotch. He shivered, finding himself already hard. Was evening wood a thing, he wondered. Dismissed the thought as irrelevant and went back to enjoying Alfredly bliss. Arthur pushed his pants down and gave his cock head a light squeeze, toying with the bead ring piercing there. He spun it around, hissing when the small titanium ball slipped into his urethra. Slowed at the piercing hole then popped through to loop back around. Twirled it a couple more times - it hurt, but it felt good if he didn't get carried away.

Arthur groaned, rolling over to lie on his belly and bury his face in the warm scent, hips raised to allow himself access to his own eager manhood. He shuddered, a small sigh falling from his lips as he imagined Alfred being the one touching him.

_Strong hands running over Arthur's body, the touch would be firm and slightly scratchy. The press of Alfred's chest to his own, soft with chub but underneath there was an undeniable layer of powerful muscle. Strong from whatever it was he and Matthew did. (Alfred probably handled the lifting and left the true crime to Matthew, Alfred was good, deep down, he just needed a guiding hand, right?) Blue eyes filled with the lust only for Arthur, smooth pink lips would skim across his skin. Alfred would press him over onto his back, push his legs apart, and sink his cock into Arthur's ass. It would be so much better than the fingers and toys that Arthur had inserted into himself before, taking that final virginity, filling him up and stretching him wide. And Alfred would kiss him full on. Arthur would allow it, offering no useless mind games, no need to "earn" his love._

"Haah... f-fuck me... Al..." Arthur pumped himself faster, imagining Alfred taking him from behind now. Hard and fast, kissing the back of his neck, holding Arthur's hand and using the other to grip his hip. A strong shudder went through him as he came, one long burst of white. Arthur stayed there a moment longer, slowly pumping his over-stimulated cock, trying to milk as much pleasure from it as he could before he had to open his eyes and finally accept that Alfred was not there.

He opened his eyes. Lying in a bed... where was he? Arthur frowned. There was no way this small mattress was his; he had a king and this could not be larger than full. The sheets were scratchy, not the Egyptian cotton he owned. The air was uncomfortably warm, edging on hot, nothing like the crisp cool of his penthouse.

Arthur bolted up to sitting. No, no, no, no. This was Alfred's room! How had he gotten here? Why was he here? He had spent so much time avoiding this place and yet... He looked down at the wet spot he made darkening the sheets and blushed.

"What a load of bollocks." Arthur grumbled as he yanked the blanket from the foot of the bed to hide the stain. Hopefully it would dry before anyone noticed it, then Alfred and Matthew would probably think it was from themselves. He made himself presentable and stood up.

The last thing he remembered was shooting up in Jack's bathroom. When did he leave? How long had he wandered around? What day was it? He investigated his person and noticed nothing amiss. No injuries, no markings. At least he had not ended up in a fight with Jack; that have ruined his only chance left in the city to get high. Sunlight filtered into the room through the cheap blinds. It was late in the afternoon.

"Fuck you, shut up!" Alfred's voice broke his train of thought. A thud sounded from outside the room, followed by Alfred saying something that Arthur could not quite make out.

When Arthur stepped out into the hall he saw Alfred standing in front of the bathroom door. He was grasping the knob with one hand, clearly irritated. A quiet mumble, certainly Matthew, came from inside. Arthur frowned. "What are you doing?"

"Hey Arty!" Alfred hailed, beaming. "Good to see you're up so fast!"

"Uh huh..." Arthur looked from Alfred's smiling face, down at his hand holding the door knob, then back. "What are you doing?"

Alfred shrugged. "Mattie was being a gross freak so ya know." He nodded towards the door as if that explained the situation.

"Hello Arthur." Matthew said from behind the door. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Shut up! No one was talking to you!" Alfred snapped. He turned his attention back to Arthur. "I keep telling you not to come here to pass out, man. One of these days Mattie's gonna do some fucked up shit to you and I'm not gonna be here to stop him."

Arthur frowned. "What happened?"

"I was pretty close to having my friend count knocked back to zero again." Alfred said matter-of-factly.

"You're exaggerating." Matthew said and tried to open the door.

"'Exaggerating,' my ass!" Alfred snapped, tightening his grip.

"Let me out so I can explain."

"No!"

"Alfred..."

"I said no! I swear to god I will drown you in the fucking toilet if you don't shut up!" Alfred roared, the sudden burst of pure rage making Arthur jump. After a moment Matthew muttered something under his breath and fell quiet. Alfred turned his attention back to Arthur. He was as happy as usual when he spoke. "You need to take better care of yourself, dude. You're my friend, I don't want you to up and die."

Arthur scowled and averted his eyes. "Don't tell me how to act."

Alfred laughed. "It ain't like that, man. Just try to be more safe, alright?"

Arthur nodded, somewhat curious to know what Alfred was so mad at his brother for but more interested in where his drugs went. Had he brought his bag? Everything was so much easier when he didn't have to worry about sneaking around Max's ba-

"Alfred!" Arthur blurted out, grabbing the younger man by the forearm. "How long have I been here?"

"Maybe four hours. Why?"

"You two need to leave."

Alfred scoffed. "Is this about rent? We're gonna pay you, we always-"

"I don't care about that! You two need to leave, right now." Arthur insisted.

"What happened?" Matthew asked from behind the door.

"The Maletta family is looking for you." Arthur explained. "Not you exactly, but the Skin Brothers you. My old dealer, Max, said you guys killed off one of the Maletta's men."

"Who the hell is 'the Malettas'?" Alfred asked, frowning.

Arthur wanted to smack him for being so stupid. "They're a gang! A mafia that runs this entire area!"

"I thought there was only one mafia." Matthew said and Arthur ignored him.

"Apparently one of your victims was a member of theirs so their boss has it out for you. I've been staying away because I know Max is following me but that didn't work."

"So... they're not the cops?" Alfred asked.

"What about 'mafia' don't you understand, you dense git?"

"I don't give a shit about that then. Tell 'em to bring it on!"

"This sounds serious, Alfred." Matthew pointed out and was ignored.

"You should give a shit, Alfred." Arthur insisted, squeezing Alfred's arm. "They set their assassin on you. Word has it he's a sniper, he'll kill you before you even know he's there. I'm amazed this place isn't burned to the ground already. You _need_ to leave."

Alfred considered it a moment, then released the door knob. He tapped on the door then started toward the living room. "Mattie come on, we gotta figure this out."

Matthew came out of the bathroom sighing in relief. There was a dark bruise on his left cheek, mottled blue and black that stretched from just under the temple nearly halfway toward his nose. It was only slightly swollen. He smiled down at Arthur. "I'm glad you finally came to visit. So what happened, exactly?"

"I'll explain later. Right now we need to move you guys somewhere safe." A pause. "What happened to your face?"

Matthew chuckled, fingers gingerly touching the sore area. "You know how Alfred is."

In the living room, Ivan was stretched out on the sofa watching TV. He yawned, covering his mouth with one hand, then went back to flipping through the limited channel lineup. At first he had been amused by the brother's bickering. After completing his paperwork Matthew had slunk off to their shared room and Alfred had not noticed him gone for the greater part of fifteen minutes. After he noticed the absence he searched around, knowing Matthew not to leave alone and especially during the day. Ivan had stayed put until he heard Alfred's angered yelling, demanding that Matthew "back off" and "get the fuck out."

Ivan caught the scuffle by the time it landed the pair in the hallway. Alfred pushed Matthew, Matt pushed back, and after a few exchanged insults and shoves Alfred hauled off and punched his brother hard enough to knock him down. Ivan laughed quietly, trying not to bring attention to himself. Alfred kicked Matthew a few times then snatched him by the forearm to forcefully throw him into the bathroom and lock him inside.

After a few minutes of yelling Ivan got bored and went back to the TV. Matthew and Alfred weren't what he had imagined the famous Skin Brothers would be like. They were far too undisciplined, too reckless. They holed up in their house and did nothing. Alfred's day was filled with endless video games, cartoons, cop shows. Books, cooking shows, and naps on the floor ate up Matthew's time. A slothful, useless existence only interrupted by fighting, killing, and fucking.

Regardless, Ivan liked them. Alfred was an annoying, pissy brat that deserved more than his fair share of kicks to the head, but he was hilarious to rile up. Every insult that Alfred lobbed his way only made Ivan want him more. That rude mouth open, tongue out, begging for Ivan's cock... He wanted to make the man grovel at his feet, desperate to get fucked by the "commie faggot" he hated so much. Ivan wondered if that would count as irony.

Matthew, on the other hand... Ivan liked him very much. He was so wonderfully passive. The man existed so quietly that it was easy to forget he was even there and Ivan found it fascinating. He was difficult to lock on to in many senses; Matthew went through great lengths to remain essentially invisible, his tone was soft and polite even when what he was saying was morally repugnant. For the life of him Ivan could not figure out how the man truly felt about his brother. Did he share Alfred's feelings? Sometimes it seemed that way, and other times it felt as if Matthew just kept Alfred around to run errands.

Matthew was so perfectly broken. When he had been filleting the skin from Ivan's last mistake, there was no hate in his eyes. None of the anger that danced behind Alfred's, or Ivan's own. There was only calm contentment and the occasional spark of lust. It was truly something special to witness.

"Hey Ivan, shut the TV off. We gotta talk." Alfred announced, pulling the man from his reflection. "Get the fuck outta the way, I want to sit down."

Ivan flipped the TV of and sat up as Matthew and Arthur came into the room. Once they had all made themselves comfortable Arthur spoke. "Matthew and Alfred need to leave as soon as possible. Ivan, you may want to go home and lay low."

Ivan frowned. "What is this about?"

"Apparently some mafias have it out for us." Alfred said.

"One mafia." Arthur corrected. "The Malettas, they're a group that controls all the major crime in this area. Their hit man doubles as the main dealer in the area. I don't know how he traced you guys back to me but somehow he did and he's probably on his way here right now."

"I guess that guy wasn't lying about being part of the mafia." Matthew mused.

"What guy?" Alfred asked.

"Lovino, the guy from the bar awhile ago. He said something about being in the mafia." He explained. "I assumed he was just trying to scare me."

Ivan's frown deepened, and he picked his cigarette pack up off the floor. "A gang is coming to kill us?"

Arthur nodded.

"And he is probably coming as we speak?"

"Yes."

The man scrubbed his face with his hand in frustration. "And we are sitting here discussing it instead of leaving _because_?"

"Where are we supposed to go?" Alfred snapped. "We can't go to Arty's house if that guy already knows where he lives. Your place is shitty and weird so we can't go there."

The men fell quiet for a moment, considering their options. After a while Matthew spoke. "Can you pay for us to get a hotel, Arthur? We'll pay you back."

The Brit shook his head. "I don't have any money."

"Like hell." Alfred snorted.

"I mean it, my bank got robbed recently so my assets are frozen until they figure everything out."

Once again the room fell quiet. After a while Matthew spoke. "Maybe we should leave."

"And go _where_?" Alfred demanded. Beside him Ivan lit a cigarette.

Matthew shook his head. "Not hide out somewhere in the city, I mean _leave_. Leave the city, heck, the whole state. We can steal a car and go to California. Or maybe go south?"

Arthur balked at that. "No!"

"Why not? There's no reason we need to stay in New York."

"If you two leave we- I- it-" Arthur clenched his fists, considered his words. "I can't just pick up and leave. I have money invested here."

"You don't need to come with us." Matthew pointed out.

"I can." Ivan supplied.

"No one wants you to." Alfred snapped and Ivan blew a lungful of smoke in his face.

"Alfred, sit down! We don't have time for this." Matthew scolded, stopping a potential fight in its tracks. Once everyone settled he went on. "Anyway, we can move. It's not like we can't come back eventually, Arthur."

"They'll kill me," Arthur pressed. Deep down he just could not stand to see Alfred walk out of his life, possibly forever, but he would be damned if he was going to say that aloud. "If they find out I tipped you off and you got away, they _will_ kill me.

"We can get you a hotel room until we figure something better out." He finished.

Alfred slapped his own knee in frustration. "We don't have the money! I spent the last of it yesterday, we ran out of food."

Matthew dropped his head in his hands and sighed. "So we just sit here and wait to die?"

"What about you?" Alfred addressed Ivan. "Do you have any money?"

He shook his head. "Rent."

"I guess it was only a matter of time." Matthew muttered.

Alfred jumped up, needing to pace around to burn off his frustration. He stalked around the room fuming. This was bullshit! He was supposed to be strong, he was supposed to protect Matthew. There was no way he was going to just sit back and let some asshole kill them all.

"It's not like people like us have a long shelf life." Matthew continued.

There had to be something they could do. Was it too late to collect their electronics and pawn them? Was it too late to rob someone? If the hit man Arthur was talking about knew where they were why weren't they already dead? Why hadn't that mafia sent a bunch of goons their way yet?

Matthew chuckled flatly. "It was fun while it lasted."

"Francis!" Arthur blurted out, sitting up straight.

Alfred stopped his pacing and Matthew looked at the man without raising his head. Ivan dropped his cigarette butt in a can before he spoke. "What are you talking about?"

Arthur jumped up, almost giddy. "He's an old business colleague. He always has money coming in, he would loan some to us. I'm sure of it."


	13. Chapter 13

Max awoke with a snort. He took his dinner, a ham sandwich and coffee, at the park a few minutes from the house he had been surveying. A gaggle of geese waddled around the grass when he decided to firebomb the place. If he hit the wrong people so be it, he would still have bodies to present to Roderich. The gang boss was essentially having a tantrum and Max was tired of doing the legwork for him.

A handful of children had been playing tag nearby and the sound of their laughter floating in the summer air apparently lulled him to sleep. Oh well, his little lapse in professionalism had bought those men a few hours. Nothing he would not remedy soon enough. Max raised his arms up over his head and stretched until his back popped, then pushed himself up to standing. An old woman walking a Corgi nodded at him as she went on by and he returned the nod before putting a cigar in his mouth. The walk to his car was a short one and within ten minutes he parked a little more than a block from the supposed Skin Brother's home.

Up onto the roof of a gas station whose attendant knew better than to ask questions. His gun was still set up, resting low against the roof where a passerby would never notice it. He laid on his belly (a soft mat was put out to keep his clothes clean) and peered through the scope.

No one appeared to be in the living room. The TV was off and none of the men were hanging around the couch as they had been earlier. Understandable, it had been a few hours. A bit of the kitchen was visible through the smaller window; no one. It was only - he checked his watch - six-thirty. They wouldn't be in bed. Maybe they went out for dinner?

"Shit." He muttered under his breath, checking each window again. Nothing.

Did Arthur know Max had been tailing him that day? Max had assumed he was too high to know what was going on - the man had fallen all over himself trying to board a bus, and walked into the wrong house before he found the one he Max was looking at now. Maybe Max underestimated him and they weren't coming back.

"Double shit."

He grabbed his phone and texted PICKUP. _Put out every eye you can for Arthur Kirkland. I'll send a pic in a second._

_Got it. Bag him?_

_Location._   Max replied. _He should be with a couple guys. White, blond, early twenties. Get pics if u can._

_I'll tell you when I hear anything._

Max pushed his phone in his pocket and stood. There was a chance they were still inside. He needed a closer look. This wild goose chase was getting old, fast. He just wanted to finish the job and get his money, not hound Arthur's freak friends all around the damn city. Max walked to the house, his hand resting against the gun strapped to his thigh, and slipped around the side of the decrepit building. He stood there with his back pressed against the wall and listened. Silence. The shaggy lawn muffled his movements as he made his way around to the backyard. More overgrown grass, a single tree in desperate need of trimming, a couple gray folding chairs propped up against the wall. There was a hole dug beside the tree, about two-by-two feet. A worn shovel lay on the ground beside it. When Max tried the back sliding door he found it unlocked. Slowly, silently he pulled it open then stood still listening. Once the quiet was sufficient he crept inside.

The house was empty.

The man let out a frustrated groan. He should have just sniped them out when he had the chance. Now there was no telling he would ever find them again. He could kiss that new sound system he wanted to buy goodbye, and he might fall out of favor with Roderich. The twins would end up taking on jobs that normally would be handed over to Max, effectively whittling his job down to a glorified drug peddler.

Max wandered through the living room, looking around for any hints as to where the men had gone. Aside from the wear and tear apparent in the walls the floors, the home was clean and tidy. The men who lived there were quite poor but there were no signs of drug use or neglect. A notebook lying on the floor was full of budgeting information and doodles, there was a three-year outdated phone book in the corner. A short stack of Sport's Illustrated magazines rested beside the futon. A few soda cans littered about.

Max checked the kitchen. The cupboards were bare but for a small clutch of canned foods huddled together above the sink. A few dirty dishes on the counter, three water bottles and a half-eaten McRib in the fridge. A backpack shoved between the fridge and the stove.

Nothing of interest in the bathroom. The toilet seat was up with a scrub brush still resting in the water, the entire bathroom appearing to have been freshly cleaned. The hall closet was packed with boxes of VHS tapes, newspapers, and magazines. Max walked into the bedroom. A few stacks of books and a half-filled glass of water beside the unmade bed. Cheap dresser filled with cheap clothes, tissues and a nearly empty bottle of lube on the headboard, a few small piles of laundry around the floor. Video camera on the floor at the foot of the bed. There was a poster of a large-breasted blonde woman taped to the back of the door. Max looked in the closet. Most of the hangers were empty, with only a few shirts left clinging crookedly from the plastic. Looked like it had been recently cleared out.

Max went to the bed and plopped down. There was nothing to help him track where the men had gone. If PICKUP's people were unsuccessful, he may have lost them forever. There wasn't even any proof that these were the guys he was looking for. Aside from the disgusting level of abject poverty, there was nothing particularly abnormal about the place. Max sighed, then turned his attention to the camera. He picked it up and found it on, with only a sliver of battery life remaining. It was simple enough to use so he went to the first file and pressed play.

Arthur was asleep on screen, stretched out wide on his back, mouth open, snoring slightly. The view moved over his face, down his body until it stopped just above the hips and panned back up to his sleeping face. When the cameraman spoke, his voice wasn't much more than a whisper.

"Arthur Kirkland. Twenty-six. He's from London."

A hand (pale skin, long fingers) came into the frame, reached toward Arthur's face, hesitated then retreated from sight. "Drug problem. Blood type O, used to be play guitar in the band Kalom Bombers. Has a thing for Alfred. He's really rich but he doesn't act like it."

There was a pause, then the hand came back into frame and pointed to each area as he spoke. "Four piercings on the left ear, six on the right, tongue, left nipple, right nipple, Prince Albert."

The cameraman rearranged himself leaning over the man, one hand resting beside Arthur's head. "What else... What else... He never wants to tell me about himself. He's got beautiful skin." There was another shuffle of weight, and the man reached off screen for a moment. He came back with a long hunting knife. The blade ran gently across Arthur's cheek and down his neck, stopping just above the sternum.

There was a click from off screen, more than likely the door opening. "What the _fuck_ are you doing?!"

"...Nothing."

"Mattie you better back off!"

"I'm not doing anything. He's fine."

"God damn it, get off of him and get the fuck out!"

"Stop yelling, you're going to wake him up."

The video ended there. Well, at least Max could now safely assume he found the right guys. Was Arthur an idiot, coming around here to pass out? The cameraman, presumably "Mattie," had said Arthur was interested in Alfred, the older of the Skin Brothers duo. Was he a hybristophile or something? Or was he just plain suicidal?

Max's phone vibrated. It was PICKUP. _We found him. He's with three other guys, all fit the profile._

* * *

 

The receptionist at Francis' stable, a curvaceous woman with green eyes and dark brown skin, stepped out from behind the desk. Her body blocked the entrance to the back hall, hip cocked and one arm resting elegantly against the fall. "I am very sorry, Monsieur Kirkland, but Papa does not wish to see guests today."

"Tell that useless frog it's Arthur _god damned_ Kirkland and I'm not in the mood to deal with his bullshit." The man demanded. Behind him Alfred, Matthew, and Ivan crowded the small waiting area. Matthew looked around in interest, his hold on the backpack slung over one shoulder tightening.

"I am very sorry but he specified not to let anyone in." The woman explained.

Alfred called out, "How much to get a look at your tits?"

"Shut up," Arthur snapped, then turned his attention back to the receptionist. "This is important and we're on a tight schedule. Get out of the way."

"I will not."

"Move!"

"I cannot."

Before he could open his mouth again, Alfred lifted his gun over Arthur's shoulder, aiming at the woman's head. "Get out of the way."

She blanched and put up her hands before backing against the wall. Arthur stalked down the hall past her, itching to cuss Francis out. He was followed by Ivan who ignored the woman completely, then Matthew who offered her an apologetic nod. Alfred hung back, kept his gun trained on her face.

"Don't think about trying to call the cops. This is a whore house, remember. It'll end bad for all of us."

The woman nodded. "Of course."

A moment of quiet passed before Alfred spoke again. "Let's see those tits."

"Pardon me?"

"You're a hooker, you show them off all the time. Come on, let me see." He said, waving his gun idly toward her chest. She bit back a complaint and did as she was told, hoping a quick flash would be enough to get the man to walk away. Her emerald green dress sleeves slipped over her shoulders as she pushed it down, exposing her sizeable breasts.

"Damn, those are great." He snickered. The receptionist turned her head away when reached out to touch but a hand on Alfred's forearm stopped him. Matthew had come back and was glaring daggers at his brother.

"Stop being rude and come on."

"You don't need me in there." Alfred said with a frown.

Matthew tugged him away from her. "You're being an asshole."

"She's just a hooker!" Alfred whined as Matthew dragged him down the hall toward the far room. "Oh come on, it doesn't matter. I wasn't gonna do anything! I just wanted to touch!"

At the end of the hallway, Arthur threw the door to Francis' room open so hard that it slammed against the wall. The man in question popped up in the bed, disoriented and confused at the intrusion, then tugged the sleep mask from his eyes. When his gaze fell on Arthur he frowned. "Didn't Alais tell you I wasn't accepting visitors?" Beside him a lump moved  and a brunette woman popped her head from under the covers, followed by a blonde woman and another black-haired beauty.

"This is important." Arthur said as Ivan, Matthew, and Alfred piled into the room behind him.

"Who are these people!" Francis demanded, motioning exasperatedly toward them.

"They're with me, don't mind them." Arthur dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. "I need a favor."

Ivan looked around the room for a comfortable place to stand, but his attention was stolen by Francis' voice. The Frenchman's accent was delightful. Silky blond hair cascaded messily around his shoulders, nicely maintained chin scruff, probably got his eyebrows done. His chest had more hair than Ivan preferred but the build was beautiful, . The burgundy silk sheets pooled around his hips, giving a tantalizingly low view of his waist. Even with sleep in his brilliant blue eyes and a scowl on his lips, this man was lovely.

"' _Don't mind them_ '?" Francis sputtered. "Get them out of here! If you had to come and bother me, you should have left them in the waiting room."

"We'll be leaving shortly, but first I need a favor."

Francis sighed, a heavy sound that had all three of his girls scooting closer to sooth him. He shook his head and waved their touches away. "Leave us." The women pouted and muttered words of disappointment, but pulled themselves naked from the bed anyway. All three of them grabbed their robes from the couch and maneuvered through their unexpected guests to leave. Matthew had to tighten his grip on Alfred's arm so he didn't wander off after them.

"What do you want?" Francis asked after his women had gone.

"We need to borrow some money."

Francis  pulled his hair up into a ponytail as he spoke. "What trouble are you in now?"

Arthur took a couple steps toward the bed. "No trouble," he lied. "We just need a hotel room for the next couple days, and maybe a little to eat on. You know I'm good to pay you back."

"Go to your apartment."

"Four hundred would be great."

"Do I look like an ATM to you?" Francis asked. The nerve of the man; he never stopped over unless he wanted something. Now he thought he could just barge in during Francis' relaxation day and demand money! And so much! It was unacceptable.

Near the door, Alfred leaned over to whisper in Matthew's ear. "We should just take it."

The younger sibling considered it for a second, then shook his head. "Arthur will get mad. He said they're friends."

Alfred rolled his eyes but stayed put.

Francis slid out of bed and walked to his robe on the other side of the room, beside the fire place. Arthur quickly adverted his eyes, opting to stare at the floor rather than the older man's nudity. "Put your damn underwear on!"

"I don't know where they went. " Francis dismissed, pulling his robe on and tying it shut. "Why don't you ask someone else about the money?"

Arthur visibly stiffened so Francis continued, a smile tugging at his lips. "Could it be that you don't have any other friends?"

"Do you need to be an ass every second of the day?" Arthur asked.

"Fine." Francis sighed, spinning around to address the Brit. "Four hundred, then?"

"Five might be better."

"Don't push it." Francis warned and went over to a safe in the corner of the room, just beside a decorated end table. While he entered the PIN, Arthur spoke to Alfred, Matthew, and Ivan in a hushed voice.

"We owe him a hundred and twenty-five dollars each. Try to get it as soon as you can."

"You're going to make us help pay him back?" Alfred complained.

"Do I look like a charity?" Arthur returned, indignant.

"You look like a cheap bitch."

The safe clicking shut ended the conversation there. Francis stood up and handed the fanned out bills out to Arthur. "Five hundred. Don't say I never did anything for you."

"Thank you, Francis." Arthur took the money they gave his friend's hand a quick shake. "I might be too busy to visit for a while, but I'll make sure you get your money back be next Monday."

Francis shook his head with a gentle smile. He gave Arthur's hand an extra fond squeeze then released him. "If you're in trouble, you can tell me."

"There's no trouble." Arthur reassured him, tucking the money into his pants pocket. "Once everything is ironed out I'll drop by for a visit."

Francis cast an unsure look at Arthur's sketchy company. The tallest one had been staring at him this entire time and it was beginning to make him uncomfortable. He turned his attention back to Arthur. "You do that."

 

* * *

 

"Five hundred bucks! God damn!" Alfred gushed, circling around Arthur as they walked. Every now and then he would try to grab the money but Arthur shooed his hands away. "Fuck this broke living bullshit, I'll just get into the pimping business."

"You will not." Matthew said and Alfred flipped him the bird. "Being a pimp is disrespectful."

"Which motel shall we stay in?" Ivan asked through a cloud of cigarette smoke.

"The one on West 50th isn't bad." Matthew suggested.

Arthur turned up his nose at the thought of such a low-quality place. "You're staying at the Hilton."

Matthew gasped and Alfred let out a joyful whoop. Ivan spoke up first, "Should we not stay somewhere cheap? To make the money last?"

"I get a discount." Arthur explained. "Besides, the thought of walking into some flea motel makes me sick. I'm above it."

"Who is staying, anyway?" Matthew asked. Of course Alfred raised his hand, followed by Ivan, then Arthur. "So all of us in one room? That sounds a little cramped."

Arthur began to respond when his phone chimed. When he checked it his face paled.

"What's wrong with you?" Alfred asked, peeking over Arthur's shoulder to try to read the message.

"Max said he's looking for me."

"Ignore him." Alfred said.

All four of them stopped at a crosswalk and waited for the light to change. Arthur chewed his bottom lip, staring at his phone's screen, then typed up a quick response. "He isn't the kind of guy I can safely ignore.

"I told him I'd see him at my flat in an hour." Arthur pulled the money from his pocket and despite Alfred's complaints, handed it Matthew. "Go to the Hilton three blocks South and tell them that I sent you. I'll be there once I get Max off my back."

They parted ways there, Ivan, Matthew, and Alfred continuing on down the street, walking in the opposite direction of Arthur. The journey to the hotel was a quick and decidedly uneventful one. Alfred buzzed around Matthew trying to get his hands on the cash and Ivan trailed slightly behind, quiet in his distraction. His mind was full of thoughts of Francis: his hair that pretty shade of wheat yellow, broad shoulders and strong back. His finely shaped ass moving across the room as he walked around, totally unashamed of his nakedness. The man would make the perfect subject for Ivan's art.

"Hey, why are you coming anyway?" Alfred asked, pulling the older man from his reverie. They were just outside of the Hilton, a beautiful sky scraper of a hotel nestled between a high-end fashion boutique and a restaurant.

"Why wouldn't I?" Ivan asked as they walked into the building. The sudden change in temperature from muggy to crisp was more than welcome.

"It ain't like they're coming for you." He pointed out.

Matthew had fallen silent and stood just off to the side behind Alfred. He dropped his head and pulled his usual red sweater's hood up, then motioned for Alfred to lean in closer. There was a quiet moment of soft whispering then Matthew slipped some of the cash into Alfred's hand. When Alfred went to the counter to book a room, Matthew gravitated over toward Ivan.

The older man felt a touch on his forearm and looked down at Matthew. He was worrying his bottom lip until it turned red, one hand having come up to grab onto Ivan's sleeve in an attempt to gain some sense of security in the busy lobby. Ivan didn't say anything and just let him do as he pleased. Apparently Matthew was now comfortable enough with Ivan to use him as a stand-in for Alfred. Interesting. Once Alfred came back Matthew instantly returned to his side.

So Ivan served as a temporary support. Acceptable.

"I only paid for tonight because we might have to move around later. We're in room six seventy-eight." Alfred said, handing card keys out to the group. "Come on, let's go get set up so we can figure out how to handle this guy."


	14. Chapter 14

"This is weird." Matthew said. He had been hanging Alfred's clothes in the closet when he stopped arranging the hangers and sighed.

Across the room Ivan was peeking out the window, surveying the ground far below. He had watched Alfred leave on a quest for various supplies, then kept on looking around. Ivan himself wasn't sure what he was looking for -- there was no way he could identify anyone who was tracking them, and he was fairly sure _they_ weren't aware he was on the move yet. He looked away from the window. "What do you mean?"

Matthew motioned around himself. "Just... this. All of it. Being on the run from someone besides the cops. Having such a nice room for once. You. All of it."

"I am weird?" Ivan asked, pulling the curtains closed.

"That's not what I meant." Matthew said, hanging the last few shirts. "I've never been comfortable with someone this fast before... Or something like that."

"I am glad I can set you at ease."

Matthew snorted. "It would be nice if Alfred felt the same way. He's starting to come around but his attitude annoys me sometimes. I'm sure it's worse for you though."

Ivan shrugged. Of course Alfred's constant bitching irritated him but he didn't want to spoil the mood by complaining. "He is warming to me, what more can I ask?"

Matthew set his backpack on a counter and went to sit on a bed. He cast a look Ivan's way but quickly averted his eyes. "I'm sorry we got you mixed up in this."

"There is no need to apologize." Ivan reassured him, walking the short distance across the room to sit beside him. He tapped his socked feet on the floor a few times, almost childishly. "It is exciting. I had never dreamed that meeting you both would turn out so wonderfully."

Matthew chuckled. "Exciting, eh? I guess that's one way to look at it."

"I prefer to remain positive."

"I'm trying to, but it's a little hard you know? Mafias are a pretty bad enemy to have." Matthew confessed. "I don't really feel like dying right now. I just want things to stay the way they've been. Just me and Alfred laying low and having fun. Is that so much to ask for?"

"You are a serial killer, Matvey." Ivan pointed out.

"I suppose you're right."

Ivan patted his friend's hand but didn't say more. What else _could_ he say? That it was amazing the brothers had made it this far? That something like this was a long time coming? Lost for words of comfort, Ivan opted to use his presence as a soother instead. They stayed like that for a while, Ivan drawing random patterns on the back of Matthew's hand with his finger, Matthew worrying his lip and gazing at the wall.

Ivan perked up. "Tell Alfred to get alcohol while he is out."

"We should stay clear-headed."

"It is only for one night. It is good to relax before making serious plans, da?"

Matthew thought about it then shrugged. He didn't know how long it would be before they had the peace of mind to take a load off, so he pulled his phone from his pocket and sent Alfred a text. He dropped it on the bed beside himself then returned his hand to Ivan's. There was no attempt to hold, just the simple weight of his own over the older man's.

A few seconds passed then Ivan leaned over just far enough to land a peck of a kiss in the corner of Matthew's mouth. The younger man tensed, casting a side-long look Ivan's way, but didn't outright object. His hand stayed where it was so the Russian took it as a good sign. He did it again, firmer this time, and frowned when Matthew turned his face away.

"I am sorry, I know that you do not like to kiss."

Matthew shook his head. "It's not that. I don't mind kissing. I guess it seems that way because of Alfred... He's hard to control, you know? He needs a carrot and stick approach to make him behave."

"I see." Ivan said, leaning in again. He used his free hand to take Matthew by the chin and turn his face (a bit of force was necessary but the man soon yielded) toward himself. Their eyes met for a second, the same shade of violet, before Matthew averted his gaze but didn't try to turn away. Ivan moved in slowly, careful not to startle the skittish man, and pressed their lips together. A few short pecks, then he kissed a little firmer. To his pleasure, Matthew's lips twitched in a half-hearted attempt to engage.

Ivan opened his eyes and saw that Matthew still had his own open. He was looking around awkwardly. Once their gazes met from so close Matthew squeezed his eyes shut. Ivan offered a few more chaste pecks then parted his lips, asking Matthew for entrance with his tongue. The younger man hesitated, nearly pulled away but Ivan held him in place, and soon he surrendered. Matthew's lips came apart, allowing Ivan's tongue inside.

Matthew's heart hammered in his chest. He had never kissed anyone beside his brother before, and his dad he supposed. Matthew had certainly never Frenched anyone aside from Alfred. The entire thing felt strange, worrisome, scary even. He liked Ivan well enough, sure, but like this? Was this meant to be a quick make-out or something more?

What if Alfred found out?

Matthew yanked his head away, cheeks pink. "I- I'm not sure about this..."

"I won't do anything that you don't want me to." Ivan murmured, leaning in to press a wet kiss to Matthew's neck.

"Then don't kiss me again, please."

Ivan's lips pulled into a sly smile against Matthew's warm skin, then he pressed another kiss there. Took hold of the man's jaw again and kissed him full-on the mouth. "Except that."

"Why?" He said past Ivan's lips.

"Why what?" Ivan replied between the kisses he was dotting across Matthew's mouth and jaw.

"I'm not..." He thought momentarily. "Is this a hookup thing?"

Matthew shut his mouth tight, embarrassed. As if Ivan had any real romantic interest. He was probably star-struck and itching to get physical with his idol. Would that be permissible? Matthew didn't know how he felt about laying with someone he intended to see again (aside from Alfred). What if he did something wrong? What if Ivan decided he didn't enjoy it and left? What if he got bored afterwards?

Ivan pulled away and offered a disarming smile. "Nyet, not a hookup. I enjoy spending time with you, I would like to enjoy more. You are interesting. You and Alfred although I like you more. If I did not enjoy our talks I would love to use you for my art."

Matthew's face turned a brilliant shade of red and he dropped his gaze to his knees. Cast a shy glance at Ivan, back down, found the man's face again and remained. "Really?"

"Of course." He said, taking Matthew's hand in a proper hold.

The younger man laughed. The sound was a little breathless, flattered and relieved. "Thank you."

Ivan hummed in acknowledgment, leaning in to kiss Matthew again. He was pleased when Matt returned the kiss without hesitation. Soft at first, still unsure, but the anxiety quickly melted away. Matthew leaned into the kiss, parting his chapped lips but making no move to go further. He hung back, allowed Ivan to take the initiative. The older man slipped his tongue into Matthew's mouth, scooted closer, squeezed Matt's hand in his own. Rested his free hand on the man's thigh. Ivan shallowly dipped his tongue in, pulled back to nibble at Matthew's bottom lip, pushed his tongue inside further this time. Purred in delight when Matt reciprocated, sliding his tongue against Ivan's.

He pressed Matthew onto the bed without breaking the kiss, laced their fingers together, used his free arm to prop himself up over him. Matthew squirmed, uncomfortable at the loss of an easy out. He pushed at Ivan's chest and when he didn't move he all but shoved. Ivan made a soft noise of surprise when Matthew rolled over him.

Ivan licked his lips, tasting Matt on them, and grinned. He was normally so passive, Ivan hadn't expected any kind of real fight from him.

Matthew crushed their lips together, the unsure hesitation he had felt being burned up by lust. Ivan was hot, but that wasn't the only thing Matthew liked about him. He was _passionate_ in what they did. He reveled in the hobby, he didn't just come along for shits and giggles like Alfred. Ivan hadn't been pushed into it, he didn't complain the whole time, he wasn't consumed with jealousy if Matthew so much as looked at someone wrong. He wasn't loud, he wasn't cocky, he wasn't boorish or disrespectful.

Ivan was a long-overdue breath of fresh air.

The older man pressed his thigh against Matthew's crotch, making him shiver and gasp against Ivan's lips. He wrapped his arms around Matthew's shoulders, pulled him close until their chests pressed together. One hand ran along Matthew's side, down and around to squeeze his ass. Matthew shuddered at the feeling, grinding his hips against Ivan's thigh. The older man brought his hand around to brush over Matt's half hard cock.

Matthew broke the kiss and pulled away. Ivan blinked in confusion then propped himself up on his elbows, a slight frown tugging at the corners of his lips. "What is wrong?"

"Alfred should be back soon. If he catches us I'm pretty sure he'll literally kill you." He murmured, refusing to meet Ivan's gaze.

This again? Right back to square one, nervous, worried, unwilling to look Ivan in the eye? What happened to turn the mood so suddenly? He sighed and sat up.

"I'm sorry." Matthew said.

Despite his frustration, Ivan managed a convincing smile. "You do not need to be sorry. I can wait."

"Alfred won't ever let it happen. He barely tolerates the people we kill. He won't just sit around and let us do this."

A quiet moment passed before Ivan spoke. "What if he partakes?"

Matthew laughed and afforded Ivan a glance. "Yeah, right."

"I am not joking." Ivan pressed, scooting up behind Matthew and nibbled at the shell of his ear. "If he were to join, he would not be able to complain."

"Ivan, there is no way Alfred would agree to a three-way. Especially not with you."

From his pocket into his palm, Ivan presented Matthew with a small array of pills he had filched from Arthur's bag earlier. He had dug through Arthur's backpack out of curiosity, seen the pills and thought they could come in handy. When the fight in the hall between Alfred and Matthew erupted, Ivan had startled and shoved the bag between the fridge and oven. Arthur was apparently rich, he wouldn't miss a few stray pills, but Ivan didn't want him knowing who had taken them.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the back of Matthew's neck, setting the pills into the man's lap. "We can convince him."

Matthew twisted his upper body around to give Ivan an incredulous look. Would that really work? It was true that if Alfred finally broke his fidelity rules he would no longer have any room to criticize, but it was sure to fail, right? Matthew knew his brother inside and out, there was no guarantee he would not deck him the minute he realized what was going on. Matt tongued the empty hole where his molar used to be. Alfred could hit _really_ hard.

Normally it was easy enough to keep his brother in line. A few hits to his ego was the most common strategy Matthew used - point out something he knew Alfred was sensitive about and pick at it until the man shut down. Withholding affection worked as a good punishment for stepping out of line. But sometimes, if Matthew did something that seriously upset him there was really no way to defuse the situation. He remembered the catastrophe with Alfred's previous best friend a couple years ago and cringed.

Ivan noticed the downturn in the man's mood, the worry creasing his brow, so he ran his fingers over Matthew's shoulder to try and calm him. "He doesn't need to know that he is taking them. Just crush them in his drink, he is bringing alcohol after all."

"I don't-"

The  door opening started them both. Matthew grabbed the pills and shoved them in his pocket as he stood, trying to put a reasonable amount of space between himself and Ivan before Alfred became suspicious. Alfred stumbled in, nearly dropping a case of La Fin du Monde (Matthew's favorite beer) on the floor.

"If you guys wanted booze you shoulda sent Ivan with me 'cause man, carrying this shit around town is tough." He said as he kicked the door shut behind himself.

"You could have made a second trip." Matthew said, going over to help relive his brother of the burden. He took the case and a bottle of whiskey in a brown paper bag.

"If you wanna make two trips you can do it yourself." Alfred scoffed, setting some plastic bags near the mini fridge. He spoke as he took the items out and set them on the counter. "I got bologna, bread, chips, candy, more chips, cookies, these mini donuts are mine, cheese for the sandwiches, and Twinkies."

"Hand me the ruffles, I'm pretty hungry." Matthew said.

"Make sandwiches, I'm gonna rinse off real quick." Alfred instructed as he walked into the bathroom. He locked the door behind himself and stripped off his sweat-moist shirt, grimacing in disgust and chucking it on the floor. The walk had been hellish in the heat. The weather report said the heat wave should break soon, and in Alfred's opinion it was more than overdue. Being hounded around town was bad enough without the ever present threat of heat stroke hanging over his head.

He hoped Arthur would hurry back so they could figure out a plan. Alfred would have preferred to waste the assassin directly and skip the preparation, but no assassin went after people randomly. He was hired by someone specifically to kill them, and Alfred wanted to know who. They would regret putting his brother in danger.

While Alfred was showering, Matthew and Ivan were arguing. They stood at the counter shoulder-to-shoulder, Ivan trying to force the pills from Matthew's hand, Matt losing his nerve and trying to bail last minute.

"He does not need all of them." Ivan insisted through clenched teeth.

Matthew shook his head. "He'll be way too mad."

"He will like it." Ivan pressed, yanking hard on the younger man's clenched fingers.

"He'll shoot you!" He snatched his hand back toward his chest but not completely out of Ivan's grasp.

Ivan pulled back, dragging Matt's hand back toward himself. "I will take care of it. Let... go!"

Matthew let out a tiny yelp when his hand was forced open. Ivan snatched the pills and shoved all but two into his pocket. A plastic spoon worked well enough to crush the drugs against the countertop and with a stir they dissolved into Alfred's drink. "Matvey, please calm yourself."

His face was in his hands. "He's going to kill us both."

"He will enjoy himself, stop worrying."

In the bathroom, Alfred rinsed a stray blob of shampoo out of his eye. When he was done he came out of the bathroom in a pair of pajama pants, rubbing his hair dry with a towel. Ivan sat on his bed beside the window sipping a beer and eating a sandwich. Matt was lying on his stomach on his own bed watching TV.

"Your food is on the microwave." Matthew said, refusing to look at his brother. He had a beer in one hand and the remote in the other.

"Awesome." Alfred said, retrieving two sandwiches and a glass of dry whiskey. He drank half the glass with one quick gulp, moving the short distance between the counter and his bed. The mattress bounced when he threw himself on it, jostling Matthew and almost causing him to spill his drink.

"Sit properly!"

"You're not my mom."

They watched TV for a while, until all of them had finished their meal and Alfred was on his second whiskey (Ivan was kind enough to prepare it for him when he got up to refill his own drink).

"So I was..." Matthew glanced Ivan's way then looked back at his brother. "We were thinking..."

Alfred's eyes narrowed as he brought his glass to his lips.

"You and Ivan need to get along." Matthew said, catching his brother's gaze and holding it. "We've got enough problems without having to worry about friendly fire."

"I wouldn't _dream_ of shooting you, Ivan." Alfred sneered, casting a very large, very fake smile the man's way. Ivan didn't respond and his expression could only be explained as smug.

"That's what I'm talking about." Matthew stressed. "There is an actual, real life _assassin_ that works for an actual real life _mafia_ out there looking for us. That's not a thing that happens, Alfred."

"It's like an action movie." Alfred agreed.

"It's _exactly_ like an action movie! Normally I would say my suspension of belief can only go so far and check out but this is a thing that's actually happening. Somehow. We have to deal with it." Matt took a long pull from his beer and sighed. "Sorry, I've been stressed out.

"Anyway, we need to be a team. All three of us, and Arthur too. We have to work together, and..."

A giggle bubbled in Alfred's throat, almost breaking before he swallowed it. What was that? Nothing funny happened as far as he could tell. Matthew was still talking but Alfred tuned him out. There was only so much complaining he had the patience to hear. Another chuckle tickled his throat and he coughed to dispel it.

Was Matt still talking? Holy shit yup, still going. Ever the quiet mouse until he felt like he was saying something important. Alfred giggled. Nothing his brother said was important. Mattie was _cute_ though! Wolf whistle cute, Alfred wanted to eat him up.

Matthew startled silent when Alfred burst out laughing. After a few moments he tapped his brother on the leg. "Are you okay?"

Alfred nodded, still cackling as he spoke. "I think so, everything's just really funny right now."

Matthew looked back at Ivan and mouthed, "How much did you give him?"

Ivan's arrogant smile grew and when he spoke he made no attempt to hide his words. "All of them."

"What were they?" Matthew asked and Ivan shrugged. Beside him Alfred had laughed so hard that his eyes stung with tears. He flopped over onto his back and rode it out until the laughter faded into errant giggles and a sore abdomen. He wiped his eyes with the back of his arm and cast his gaze to Matthew.

"Hey, come here." He said in a sing-song voice.

Matthew hesitated, thinking over the situation. He had to weigh the pros and cons:

Pros: Sex (!), sex with Ivan, stress relief, Alfred's code of monogamy broken.

Con:  Alfred would get mad.

 _That settles it, I guess._ Matthew thought, crawling on all fours over his brother. Alfred wiggled, giddy, a foolish grin on his face. His hands came up to cup Matthew's cheeks, rub slow circles over his jaw (the fine prickle of a budding white-blond five o' clock shadow, still too short to be seen, tickled his thumbs), and pulled him into a kiss. Matthew eased into it, with none of the anxiety that had plagued him with Ivan. He knew this, he had kissed Alfred a million times, and would a million more if they lived long enough. Ivan was fun in his own way; new, fresh, a little pushy (in a way that made Matt shiver with want), but Alfred was home.

Matthew opened his mouth, allowing his brother's roving tongue entrance. Alfred's movements were rough, breathing heavy, his hands wandered to Matthew's shoulders, squeezed his biceps, wrapped around his back and hugged him tight. Matt cast Ivan a look and waved him over.

"Fuck, Mattie, you're so fucking hot _holy shit_." Alfred gasped out between kisses. His entire body was hot, screaming with need, making him writhe and twist under his brother's firm body.

"Thank you." Matthew replied, nibbling Alfred's lower lip. "Close your eyes, please."

Alfred did as he was told, enjoying a few more kisses before Matt pulled away. Alfred frowned, ready to complain when he felt lips on his own once again. A bit cooler, a bit smoother. The press was firmer. Alfred reciprocated the kiss, an excited, shuddering gasp coming from his nose when a hand rested on his crotch.

"Hey- don't move around so much- my beer is going to spill." Alfred heard Matthew say, off to his right.

"Sorry." Ivan's word formed against Alfred's lips.

His eyes snapped open. "What the fuck!"

Ivan grinned and nipped him on the nose. "Ssshh, it is fine, you will have fun."

"Fuck you 'it's fine'!" Alfred snapped. He moved to shove Ivan off but his movements were sloppy enough for Ivan to subdue him. The man caught Alfred by the wrists and pushed his arms down on either side of his head. A hint of fear sparked in Alfred's eyes, faltered and was replaced by an excited grin.

Ivan grit his teeth, squeezing Alfred's wrists. What was so funny? This was Ivan's victory! His time to shine, when he finally took what he wanted! Alfred should have been furious, cussing him out, struggling valiantly only to fail and be taken by force. Instead, he was laughing.

"What is wrong with him?" Ivan demanded of Matthew.

The youngest sat on the edge of the bed sipping his beer and watching the exchange with quiet interest. The glass bottle in his hand tilted until the liquid was gone, and this time found a home in a trash bin instead of by his side. "You're the one who decided to give him all the pills."

"Da... I suppose..." Ivan grumbled, turning his attention to Alfred. He was laughing stupidly.

Ivan dipped down to lick and nibble at Alfred's ear, still holding his arms against the bed. Alfred turned to Matthew and in an almost whiny half-giggle he said, "Mattie, help. Ivan's eating me and he's really heavy."

Matthew leaned over on his side, propping himself up with an elbow so he and Alfred's faces were inches apart. Ivan's mouth moved down Alfred's jaw and neck as Matthew took hold of his brother's glasses and slid them from his face. He folded them, along with his own, and set them together on the headboard. Alfred's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, he started to speak but was silenced when Matthew kissed him deeply.

Alfred moaned when his brother's tongue pushed into his mouth and Ivan's lips latched to his bare collarbone. Matthew tasted so good, he smelled so good, he looked _so good talked so good fucked so good walked so good fought so good kissed so fucking good so good good good_. Alfred reached out to touch him, his silky hair and soft skin. Tingling kisses traveled down his chest, leaving lines of wet that cooled in the hotel's air and, god, even that felt amazing.

Teeth on his nipple made Alfred hiss in pain and suddenly he remembered Ivan. The man was toying with Alfred's chest, occasionally giving him hard pinches and bites. Alfred looked down at him, expression edging on anger, and when their eyes met a wolfish grin spread over Ivan's face. Matthew made a little huff to get his brother's attention - he had slowed his moments nearly to a halt in his distraction.

Ivan gave the pink bud one last lick then scooted up beside the siblings, took hold of Alfred's jaw (digging his nails into the skin) and pulled him away from Matthew to press a harsh kiss to his lips. Matthew muttered a quiet, annoyed little noise at the loss of his brother's lips but didn't voice his objections, allowing Ivan to do as he pleased.

The sharp spark of anger Alfred felt was muddled in his drug-induced haze, warped into a kind of fear, then disappeared. He opened his mouth, ran his tongue over Ivan's, groaned into the man's mouth when a firm touch slid down his thigh and squeezed. As much as he hated Ivan, he was so horny he could barely think. His whole body felt tingly and hot, colors so vivid, sounds amplified and somehow so sweet.

When Ivan broke the kiss a thin rope of saliva connected them for a second before it broke, leaving Alfred's flushed and gasping. Squirming as Ivan hooked his fingers in the hem of his pajama pants and pulled them down. Alfred's cock popped out from the hem, rosy pink and already leaking precome.

"I had assumed you were overcompensating for a small dick," Ivan commented. "It seems I was mistaken, you are quite..."

He ran his finger down the length and Alfred gasped. "Average."

"Don't be rude." Matthew said, frowning. He and his brother were perfectly adequate in that department.

"High average." Ivan corrected himself with a smirk, leaning forward to press a kiss to Matthew's lips. Their lips barely brushed when Alfred shoved Ivan out of the way, the suddenness catching the older man off guard, and smashed his own mouth against Matthew's instead. The younger sibling squeaked in surprise as Alfred kissed him painfully hard, knotting his fingers in his hair to keep him from pulling away. Only after Matthew relaxed and reciprocated his affection did Alfred break the kiss and turn to glare at Ivan.

"Keep your commie hands off him." He said, grip tightening in Matthew's hair until the younger man hissed in pain.

"H-hey, let go..."

"How do you intend to stop me?" Ivan said with a sneer.

"He's _mine_."

"Alfred that really hurts..."

Ivan scoffed. "Matvey is not an object, he can choose who he wishes to touch."

"Ivan, could you..."

"Fuck you, Mattie's my brother and that means he's mine! Family always outweighs creepy commie faggots like you."

Ivan's smile strained then faded. Every fiber of his being was screaming to knock out every single one of Alfred's teeth from his useless, irritating mouth. But Matthew was right there struggling to pry his sibling's hand from his hair. Ivan took a deep, calming breath, and smiled. "It is him, or you."

Just after Matthew freed himself from his brother's grip, Ivan grabbed Alfred and rolled him over onto his belly. Alfred let out a small, giggly yelp of surprise, his earlier jealous anger being replaced with confusion. "What the-"

Ivan slid off the bed and grabbed Alfred by the hips, dragging him to the edge of the mattress and arranging him so that his torso stayed pressed to the mattress and ass was up in the air. Alfred protested, squirming and cussing Ivan out, nearly breaking from the man's grasp before his hands were yanked behind his back and one leg of his pajama pants tied them tight.

"Don't be too rough with him." Matthew said. "He's supposed to enjoy it, remember?"

"Do not worry, Matvey." Ivan said, looking down at his handiwork. Alfred bound under him, cock still hard and face red from struggling. "I only want to make this easier for us, he is not in pain."

"I guess let's just... do it then." Matthew said and pulled his shirt over his head. He took a moment to toss a small bottle of hotel lotion to Ivan. "Arthur might be on his way back and we do need to sleep."

"Mattie what the fuck!" Alfred snapped as the other two kicked their clothes off and tossed the articles on the floor.

"Do not worry, you will enjoy it." Ivan cooed, rubbing his dick along the cleft of Alfred's ass.

Alfred looked back at Ivan and his eyes flew wide. He turned back to Matthew, shaking his head. "No... No-no-no fucking way, that's too big! I'll tear!" He tried scurrying away but Ivan's fingers dug firmer into his hips.

"Alfred," Matthew said, trying to get his brother to look him in the face. He was preoccupied by wriggling around, trying to get out of Ivan's grasp. "Alfred, listen to me." He grabbed his sibling with both hands, cupping his cheeks in his palms and forcing Alfred to look into his eyes.

"It's going to be fine," he said and Ivan rubbed his dick slowly over Alfred's hole. He tensed and started to wiggle until Matthew pulled his face forward again. "Listen to me! You're going to be fine, it won't hurt that much, and I'm fine with it. Okay? You'll be fine."

Behind him, a slick finger poked at his entrance. Alfred whimpered, "Please don't let him do this." He couldn't sleep with someone else, he had sworn he would never do it. Alfred's fidelity was his word, his integrity, his last unbroken morality. As much as he protested and tried to hate it, Ivan's slight touches felt amazing and somehow that made it worse. He swallowed thickly and bit back a whine when another finger slipped inside of him too soon.

While Matthew worked to calm Alfred down, Ivan was trying to coax him open. His hole was tense, but at least Alfred's body was nice to look at in the meantime. The small amount of extra chub on him made his ass that much more round and thick. As he pushed another finger into Alfred he let go of his thigh for a second to give that generous ass a slap. It jiggled cutely.

"Cut it out!" Alfred yelled and Ivan ignored him. He decided that was enough and pulled his fingers out.

Alfred yelped at the sudden loss and tensed when he felt Ivan's cock poke him instead. It pushed against him, slipping through the outer ring. The blond cried out in a confused mix of pleasure and pain as his under-prepared body was forced open. He let out little grunts and yelps, still trying to wiggle away, until Ivan was seated fully inside.

Sighing happily, Ivan leaned forward to land a peck of a kiss on the nape of Alfred's neck. "You are amazing inside."

Alfred ignored that. "Mattie please, help... Ivan, stop!"

Ivan pulled out slowly until he had almost completely slipped out, then thrust back inside. Each pass sent a burning hot jolt of pleasure straight up Alfred's spine that faded into a cramping pain. Alfred balled his hands into tight fists and willed himself to relax. This whole thing didn't need to hurt too badly. If he had to get raped, he would rather it happened in the least painful way possible. He turned his attention back to Matthew and opened his mouth to speak but was cut short when his brother's dick pushed its was between his lips.

The sound of Alfred's muffed words made the younger sibling chuckle. He began thrusting in opposite intervals as Ivan, pushing his brother further and further onto his cock. Alfred choked and tried to cough, the spasms of his throat an amazing feeling.

Alfred moaned around the member in his mouth, a line of spit dribbling down over his chin. The taste of his brother's dick on his tongue made him shiver with delight, the discomfort of Ivan's thrusts quickly becoming buried in his horny, drug-filled hazy mind. Replaced by electric waves of pleasure that had him gasping.

On the other end, Ivan was enjoying the sight. Balls deep in his long-time idol's ass, as said idol sucked his own brother's dick. He decided that today easily qualified as one of the best days of his life. Ivan chuckled as he pushed against Alfred's lower back, making the man's ass lift higher to give him a better shot as his prostate. Angling his hips, Ivan poked around, sliding his dick firmly over the walls of Alfred's insides. Suddenly the man moaned loudly, the sound muffled against Matthew's crotch. Ivan grinned, _Found it_.

The drugs in his system made his body a live wire. Alfred pushed back against Ivan, driving him even deeper inside. The world was still vibrant and in his foggy mind the only things that mattered wasn't the hand on his hip, or the dick half down his throat; It was the amazing spasms of pleasure that rocketed straight to his cock every time Ivan thrust into him. Alfred tried to ignore the feeling but his body didn't seem to give a damn what his brain thought. He let out another half-choked gasp of pleasure, looking up at Matthew to plead with his eyes.

 _Stop it._ He wanted to say. _Make him stop too, I don't want this. I only want you, can't you fucking understand that?_

Matthew ran his fingers through Alfred's hair, enjoying the softness. He had never seen his brother in such a degrading position, being fucked from both ends, mewling and squirming with his eyes glazed from drug-enhanced ecstasy. Alfred had a certain lewd cuteness about him that Matthew appreciated, and being debauched in such a way brought it out wonderfully.

Alfred gasped and moaned with every thrust, achingly hard, sharp bolts of white hot pain shooting up his spine, choking on his brother's dick and struggling to blink back tears. Everything felt _so good_ , unbearably good, betrayal all but forgotten when compared with the way his dick ground against the plush blanket every time Ivan thrust inside. Matt's cock moved deeper down his throat, past where he would normally choke or gag but he was too high to have any useful reflexes.

Alfred struggled for breath as he was forced to deep throat for the first time in his life, tip of his nose nearly touching his brother's well-maintained pubes, dizzy from lack of air. Ivan pushed into him three more times, hard, quick shoves, and Alfred came. Whole body tense, his eyes roll up just before he squeezes them shut and a tear breaks, just one, more a tear of gratitude for being fucked so thoroughly than one of distress at this point. He comes onto the bed, on the blankets and his stomach. He's still hard, no down time, his over-stimulated cock rubbing over the come-slick bedding.

"Hang on, just a little more..." Matthew said when Alfred made a choked whine. He's almost proud; his brother has always been good with his mouth. He forced Alfred as far down as he could go, shallow thrusts into his throat until he came. When he pulled away Alfred tried to take a breath and choked on come, erupting into a coughing fit.

"You tighten up nicely when you do that." Ivan remarked, leaning down to bite and suck a line of love bites across Alfred's neck. Matt got up, 'for water' he explained, and Ivan moved to untie Alfred's wrists. He hesitated with his hand hovering over the fabric. Alfred appeared to be into it (he was doing his best to push back against Ivan) but it could turn into a fight. Ivan would win, he didn't doubt that, he just didn't want the trouble of wrestling Alfred back into submission.

While Ivan was considering his options, Matthew wrapped a towel around his waist (it felt immodest not to) and was sipping surprisingly tasty water from a plastic cup. Crisp and highly refreshing, he would stay at this place again for the water alone. He sipped it down, savoring the flavor, then poured himself another half cup and turned his attention to the two on the bed.

Alfred was untied and laying on his back, one hand squeezing the sheets as he used the other to stroke himself, gasping and squirming against Ivan. The older man pressed Alfred's thighs apart further and pushed into him deep and fast, angled himself to hit Alfred's sweet spot. He cried out when Ivan rubbed against his prostate, a breathy "oh!" as if he only just remembered that part existed, and with a shuddering whimper he came for the second time, one short spurt that landed on his own chest.

Ivan thrust into Alfred's hole, the man's body squeezing and fluttering around his dick fantastically, shoved in as deeply as he could and came. He stayed there a moment to catch his breath then pulled out, more than satisfied. If he were always this enjoyable in bed, Ivan could learn to like him.

"Alfred, are you thirsty?" Matthew asked. Ivan got up and wandered unhurriedly to get water for himself. The older sibling didn't reply so Matt approached him. He was laying on his back breathing hard, staring at the ceiling (his blue eyes nearly devoured by jet back pupil), his expression somewhere between mirth and confusion. Matthew called out to him, "Are you thirsty?"

Alfred stared at him a minute, almost like he was trying to remember who he was looking at, then grinned. "Mattie..."

He rolled over and lifted his hips, smiling expectantly back at his brother, hair disheveled and come glistening around his lips, on his chest, dribbling out of his loose hole, smeared over his dick (only half-hard now but just as willing). "Fuck me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N  
> I do not own La Fin du Monde or Twinkies.
> 
> The previous two chapters were pretty short and tbh they could have been combined into one but I really hate skipping around scenes too much in one chapter. I try to stick to three or lower page breaks per chapter. Sorry about that. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Hopefully this excessively long chapter can make up for it.
> 
> I've been building up to this for 800 chapters and here it finally is. I hope it holds up to expectations... OTL Comments (especially concrit!!) are very much appreciated. They give us writers drive to work faster. >:3


	15. Chapter 15

"Where are they, man?" Max demanded.

"I don't know!" Arthur cried, arms out in a reflexive and useless attempt to grab onto something as he dangled over the edge of his penthouse balcony's railing. His heart hammered blood straight down into his head, the increasing pressure making his face ache and eyes burn. His vision began to blur, the city's lights spreading out into bright splotches of white and yellow.

Max tightened his grip on Arthur's legs. He was strong and Arthur was a petite man but hanging him off a building still proved to be a struggle.  "Just tell me where they are and I'll let you back up."

The city twisted beneath him and for a horrible moment Arthur feared he would get sick. He was panicking, gulping in air between pleading to be let back up, dizzy and disoriented from the hit to the head he had taken earlier when he was fool enough to let Max into his home. "I told you, I don't bloody know!"

Max's grip slipped momentarily and Arthur shrieked. "Stop wiggling!" He growled through clenched teeth, trying to regain his hold. Although the heat had subsided his hands were beginning to sweat.He was sure that if Arthur did not stop thrashing he would end up an ugly red smear on the concrete below. "Tell me where they are!"

"Alright!" Arthur all but screamed when he felt himself slip further. "Alright! Alright! Alright, I'll tell you, just pull me up!"

Max grunted with effort, arms burning from the weight, and yanked Arthur up and over the railing. The blond yelped in pain as the hard metal pushed his shirt up and drug over his bare back before he landed on the balcony floor in a heap.

"Are you mad!" Arthur demanded, bolting up and rushing past Max into the apartment as if he expected the man to change his mind and fling him to his death.

Max cracked his knuckles, his hands sore from holding Arthur's weight, and followed him inside. "You forced my hand."

Arthur glared, mouth slightly ajar in a mixture of offense and disbelief. "You kept me waiting for hours and when you finally arrived, you attacked me!"

Max waved Arthur's complaints off. "I asked you where they were twice. You refused to tell me."

Arthur bit back a flurry of cursing, gritting his teeth and swallowing his rage like a bitter stone. Max's casual demeanor after pulling such a stunt enraged him but speaking up would likely yield painful results. Instead, he cursed his own fool self for coming when Max called. He _knew_ it was a terrible idea even as his feet had carried him away from the hotel he left Alfred to sleep at. His stomach had twisted in fear in the lift as he ascended to his penthouse. And when Max called him to tell him he would be late, being sure to remind Arthur to stay put, he knew he should have run.

And yet he stayed. He needed his drugs and as impossible, as stupid, as dangerous, as frankly pathetic as it was, Arthur needed his old dealer back. Jack's offerings did their job, they got him high, but it was a cheap effect from a sub-par product.

"Where did they go?" Max asked, moving across the spacious room to sit in an armchair.

"Sell to me again."

Max laughed and propped his feet up on the glass coffee table. "You're in no place to make demands, man."

A moment of quiet passed, Max sat comfortably, Arthur standing beside the mini bar. Finally he spoke. "You're getting what you want, aren't you? So why not?"

"Where are they?"

"Sell to me."

"I'll think about it."

Arthur sighed. If he kept pushing, Max was likely to get annoyed and beat it out of him. Or worse, drag him back to the balcony. "They're at the Hilton."

"Which one?"

When Arthur told him he nodded and stood. He approached Arthur at a leisurely pace, immaculately shined shoes thumping dully over the plush tan carpet. "See how easy that was?"

Arthur didn't reply so he carried on. "But you've lied to me more than once. What makes you think I trust you?"

"I'm not lying to you." Arthur said, uncomfortable with how close the man stood.

Max stopped just before Arthur, intimidating in his size.  "Let's hope not, yeah? If you're lying, you're dead. Do you understand?"

Arthur nodded and before he had a chance to react, Max punched him. The Brit fell to the floor out cold and Max dug in his pocket to retrieve a cigar. "Let's make sure you don't run off or try to warn them, alright?"

 

* * *

 

A loud crash startled Matthew awake. He pulled his glasses from their place alone atop the headboard and pushed them into position on his nose then blinked the sleep from his eyes. When his vision came into focus, he saw that the clock beside the bed read five AM.

"Where is that bastard!" Alfred stalked out of the bathroom disheveled but ready for the day.

"It's too early for-" Matthew began, his voice rough with sleep.

"Fuck you! Get the fuck up Mattie, right now!"

Matthew fell silent. He hadn't heard Alfred this angry in years. Already he was beginning to regret his decision to follow along with Ivan's plan.

"Get up!" Alfred yelled again so he did, quickly snatching his clothes off the floor and yanking them on.

"Alfred, you need to calm-"

"Where the fuck is Ivan."

"I... I don't know, I just woke up." As he said this, Matthew glanced at the side table and noticed a note. He reached to pick it up and flinched when Alfred stomped over and snatched it instead. Matthew saw that his right hand was bleeding.

 

 _Maty, gone to store for cig_ [multiple attempts to spell the word were scribbled out] _smokes._

 

Alfred shredded the note with a flurry of expletives. "Whatever! I'll worry about that asshole later. Grab your shit, we're leaving."

"Leaving where?"

"I don't remember asking for your opinion." Alfred growled, shaking with barely contained rage. "Pack. Your. Shit."

"We can't just leave, what if that guy finds us?" Matthew pressed. "Arthur isn't back yet either, we need to-"

"Mattie," Alfred snapped, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him close so they were face-to-face.  Matthew noticed his blood-shot eyes and realized that he must have been crying. "Shut up. Shut the _fuck_ up. I'm giving you five minutes to grab what you can, then I'll drag your sorry ass out by your hair if I have to."

Alfred released him and went to the closet to rip clothes down from their hangers. He threw them into one of their bags, each movement far more aggressive than necessary. Behind him Matthew smoothed his shirt and sighed before he spoke. "Alfred."

"What?" He snapped without looking back at his brother.

"Is this about last night?" The question was nearly rhetorical.

Alfred's movements halted. When he spoke his voice was distant. "Just pack your shit."

"You're overreacting."

"Overreacting?" Alfred's voice was little more than a strained whisper. He turned and glared at Matthew. "I'm _overreacting_?"

Bad word choice, Matthew realized when Alfred crossed the room, only a few long strides, and shoved him. Matthew nearly lost his balance, arms pin wheeling a few times, and when Alfred shoved him again he fell back onto the bed and landed sitting.

"Overreacting?! You drugged me. You let him fuck me, you let him _rape me_ and I'm overreacting?!"

Matthew frowned. "Nobody raped you, calm down."

Alfred hit him in the mouth. Matthew cried out, more in surprise than pain, and clapped his hands over his lips. He could taste blood, his teeth ached, and he was sure his lip was split from the burn.

"Shut up!" Alfred yelled so loudly that Matthew became concerned that someone would call the front desk. Before he had a chance to express this fear, Alfred hit him again. Each sentence was punctuated with another dizzyingly painful blow wherever the older man could land one without Matthew blocking. "Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!"

Alfred felt sick with rage. The strange, hazy memory of what happened was fresh in his mind, making his skin crawl and stomach turn. The thought of Ivan touching him, fucking him, each thrust tearing his trust in Matthew apart. He could still feel Ivan's breath on his ear, still heard the lewd words he whispered. The ache in his lower back and ass was a constant reminder of his betrayal. His chest felt hollow and full to bursting all at once. He hated it and he hated Ivan more than he ever had.

He should never have let that bastard into their lives. Alfred shouldn't have let _anyone_ close to them. He should have locked Matthew away in some remote cabin where he couldn't leave, he wouldn't be able to lay his eyes on anyone but Alfred.

But he wanted to be a good boyfriend, he wanted to see his brother smile and Matthew was never truly happy without the blood. Without the death. Alfred stopped in his tracks, one fist hovering in the air over his cowering sibling. When he spoke his voice shook. "Why aren't I good enough?"

Matthew blinked, parting his raised arms just enough to peek out at Alfred. He didn't respond, scared that any word would set the man off again.

"I'd do anything for you, Mattie. I killed dad for you. I forgave you about Davie. I do _everything_ for you, so why aren't I good enough?" Alfred asked, eyes filling with tears.

Still, Matthew did not respond.

"ANSWER ME YOU FUCK!" Alfred roared, the heat of rage flaring in his chest as suddenly as it had faded.

Matthew flinched but didn't reply. He didn't know how to answer. Alfred was enough, they had been together since Matthew was born. What more did he want?

Alfred reached over for a moment, long enough to yank the dresser drawer open and retrieve his gun. He jammed the barrel against the side of Matthew's head and clicked the safety off. "Tell me! Tell me why!"

"Alfred, just calm-"

He cocked the gun. "Tell me!"

"It's not-"

"You don't think I can kill you, right?" Alfred sneered. "Because I love you, right? That's why I _can_ do it baby bro. I do love you, you stupid fucking asshole. That's why I can kill you, and then myself."

Alfred pulled the trigger.

There was no explosion of sound, no splatter of blood and brains over the tussled hotel sheets. There was only a hollow click followed a split second later by Matthew's squeak of terror. Alfred's smile twisted into a frown. He squeezed the trigger again.

_Click. Click. Click._

He swore in irritation and pulled the gun from his brother's head and ejected the clip. Empty.

"You tried to shoot me." Matthew muttered through the blood on his lips.

"He took my bullets... He took my fucking bullets." Alfred said to himself, staring at the gun in disbelief. Ivan had disarmed him before running off... A smarter decision than Alfred wanted to give him credit for.

"You actually tried to shoot me."

Alfred glared at his beaten sibling then climbed off the bed and stood. His anger had eased, each pull of the trigger, although impotent, sucked the rage away and left him feeling numb. "Get up. Grab your shit."

Matthew rose, wincing in pain, and did as he was told. They threw their belongings into a bag and after Matthew took a moment in the bathroom to wash the blood off his face (the mirror was broken, a smear of red in the center of the web-like cracks) they left. The ride to the ground floor was quiet but for the droning elevator music and soft chime as they passed each floor. Matthew was still stunned silent by his brother's actions. Never in their lives had they truly attempted to kill one another. Even their worst fights were mere scraps to work some aggression out with no real attempts to inflict deadly damage. He could still feel the pressure of the gun against his head. Alfred had been completely serious in his threat.

For a moment he almost smiled. Just when he thought he knew everything there was to know about his brother, Alfred managed to surprise him.

Alfred led them first to the counter to check out then drug Matthew outside, his grip making the younger man wince in pain but he didn't dare complain. The cool morning air was a welcome respite from his throbbing face. The streets were sparse of pedestrians with only a few early birds hurrying down the sidewalk. Matthew let his eyes drift shut as Alfred pulled him along. It was almost nice, nostalgic even, reminiscent of a time when they were kids at the start of fall. Alfred always led him around like this, gripping his wrist albeit less forcefully. The only difference was Alfred's quietness. Normally he would be rambling on a mile a minute but now... Nothing.

Matthew opened his eyes. Alfred had led them into an alleyway.

"I'm going to the store to get something for your face, and something to help disguise ourselves." Alfred said. "Those people are still looking for us so it isn't safe to go wandering around out in the open. If that guy really is a sniper like Arthur said, he could be waiting for us anywhere. Wait for me here."

Matthew nodded and when Alfred gently pulled his glasses from his face he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "What do you need those for?"

"You need me, Mattie. Don't forget that." Alfred said and broke Matthew's glasses in half.

"Hey! I need those!"

Alfred let them go and they landed on the pavement with a clatter. "Stay put."

He turned and jogged away, leaving Matthew standing in the alley near-sighted and anxious. Alone and half-blind in public, his knife was in the bag Alfred still had slung over his shoulder, gone for who knows how long. He still had his phone but it was dead, neglected to be charged in the wake of the night's activities. Matthew pressed his back up against the wall and slid down until he was sitting on the ground. As uncomfortable as it was, he had no choice but to wait.

He wondered where Ivan went. The man made himself absent to avoid the brunt of Alfred's fresh anger, but when would he be back? Would he return at all? Matthew wasn't sure. Maybe he had gotten what he wanted and was satisfied with them both. Maybe he moved on. Was it worth it, he wondered. He didn't know, it was hard to weigh the pros and cons of the situation without knowing where Ivan had gone, and how long Alfred's grudge would last.

"Maybe he's getting more bullets." He whispered to himself, pulling his knees in close to his chest and resting his head on his folded arms. It was a very real possibility but Matthew stayed. Waiting for death perhaps. He came into the world connected to Alfred by blood, lived every day together. It only made sense that they die together as well.

A car crept down the alley. Matthew raised his head enough to peek at the black vehicle and although he couldn't see the details at first, it came into focus as it moved toward him. The car stopped just before him and when the passenger door swung open it almost nicked his knees.

A thick cloud of tobacco smoke wafted from the open door and the driver spoke. "You Alfred or Matthew?"


	16. Chapter 16

Matthew's pulse was thunderous in his ears. He sat in the front seat of Max's car, pushed up firmly against his own door to be as far from the man as possible. His fingers nervously fiddled with the seatbelt strapped over his chest and once again he considered trying to jump. Matthew glanced at the speedometer: sixty. There was no way he would survive.

"Don't be a dumbass." Max said, noticing Matt's nervous glances and shifts. He took one last pull from his cigar, twin blasts of choking smoke pouring from his nostrils, then crushed it out in the ashtray. Matthew gagged, nearly retched at the nauseating scent of concentrated tobacco. The man hadn't bothered to roll his window down and Matt's was locked.

If only he hadn't forgotten his blade! Matthew knew he couldn't take the assassin in a real brawl (besides, he would only get himself shot) but if he had his knife he could sink it into the man's side right now, slice that lovely brown skin apart and spill blood. It probably wouldn't kill him but it would distract him, force him to pull over so Matthew could run.

The ride wasn't long, fifteen minutes on the freeway at most. They pulled up beside a large factory building, most of it shrouded in dawn's semi-darkness. Max parked in the back of the building and killed the engine. He didn't move to get out, instead twisting his body to look at Matthew. "Don't fight with me when we go in alright? It's early, I'm not in the mood for a scrap."

Matthew didn't meet his eyes, his gaze locked firmly on his own knees, and bobbed his head in agreement.

Max looked at him a bit longer then made a small grunt, satisfied that Matthew was being truthful, and climbed out of the car. Matthew glanced up to see him move around the car and when Max was at his door he looked away again. His door was pulled open and Matthew found himself being dragged from the vehicle, Max's firm grip on his bicep confirming what he already knew about the man's physical strength.

"You got a phone?" Max asked as he escorted Matthew through a large steel door on the side of the building.

The blond's eyes were moons in the dark space as he struggled to see. Despite Max's urging he forced himself to take small, safe steps lest he trip on some shrapnel and slice himself to ribbons on the shards of glass and metal that crunched underfoot. "No."

"Bullshit," Max stopped walking and held his hand out to his captive. "Come on, hand it over."

"I don-"

"You give it or I take it, alright man?" He said, wiggling his fingers impatiently.

"Sorry," Matthew muttered, digging into his jeans pocket in search of his mobile. He handed it over and Max once again tugged him further into the building until they went through another door. This room was significantly cooler than the last, a wide-open windowless square with white walls and dirt-stained linoleum tiles underfoot. Large metal racks were lined up against the right wall, leaving the rest of the room open to allow for something like thirty chains to hang from the ceiling. At the far end was a plain metal desk with a plastic folding chair set before it. The room appeared to be a particularly large meat locker but there wasn't a carcass or blood spill to be seen.

"Hands out."

Matthew complied and Max secured a pair of durable plastic cuffs around his wrists.

"See that chair?" Max asked and Matthew nodded. "Go sit down."

The blond immediately obeyed and Max hummed in surprise, "You're obedient."

"If I say no you'll just make me do it anyway," Matthew mumbled, plopping down on the chair.

Max laughed, "You're right about that. I like your practicality."

Matthew shrugged.

"I'll call your brother soon enough," Max said, walking over to sit at the desk. "But I've got a few questions for you, first."

Matthew looked at him, confused. Wasn't this in retaliation for that guy he killed a while back? What purpose could questioning him serve?

Max leaned back in his chair, the leather squeaking with the movement. "Who do you work for?"

"Pardon?"

"Don't play games, man." Max sighed, "Just tell me who hired you to kill Antonio."

"I don't... know who that is," Matthew said.

"You know who I'm talking about: Antonio Fernández Carriedo, Maletta family member, one of their best assassins."

Matthew tilted his head in bewilderment, "I've never-"

Max drug his hand over his face in frustration, a heavy sigh echoing in the spacious room. "Spanish accent? Brown hair? Blue- no- green eyes?"

Matthew shook his head.

"You're not weaseling your way out of this, man. Just fess up."

Matthew pressed his lips tightly together and wracked his brain. The guy he killed did have brown hair, but he had told Matthew that he was Italian. Also his eyes were brown, not green. So who was this guy talking about? Who did he think Matthew was?

"Well?" Max pressed.

"I... I might remember who you're talking about." Matthew finally said.

 

* * *

 

When Alfred returned, the alley was empty. He looked around the short street, peeking behind boxes and garbage cans, sure that his brother was hiding. It wouldn't have been the first time the man ducked behind something to avoid prying eyes while Alfred was otherwise indisposed. He shoved a dumpster away from the wall and jumped when a muffled but loud noise sounded from inside. Had Matthew seriously climbed into the trash to avoid a passing bum?

"Mattie this is pretty pathetic, even for you." He said and lifted the lid. Arthur, bound and gagged, stared up at him.

"What the-" Alfred began, flipping the lid so he could fish the man out. "Artie, what happened?"

He pulled the gag from Arthur's mouth. "He took Matthew!"

"Took him?!" The Brit was halfway out of the bin when Alfred dropped him, sending Arthur toppling out of the garbage with a yelp.

"Don't just drop me like a bag of rubbish you slow git! Untie me!" He squirmed around, grumbling curses as Alfred struggled with the knots.

"Did he hurt him?"

"No, not while I was there. Just cut the damn things!"

Alfred fished Matthew's hunting blade from his bag and severed the ropes as Arthur continued, "He made him get in the car then tossed me in here. He had me in the damned boot." Arthur yanked the ropes from himself and threw them away, "Are you listening to me?"

Beside him Alfred had his eyes closed and was kneading his temples. _Of course_ Matthew had to get abducted. Alfred should have known he couldn't leave his useless brother alone.

"Alfred I am trying to talk to you," Arthur snapped. "Stow your meltdown and listen!"

"This day just keeps getting worse and worse," Alfred said through clenched teeth. He turned his attention back to Arthur. "Where did Max take him?"

"I don't know. He said to keep your phone on and he would contact you. For a trap, no doubt."

Alfred pulled his phone from his pocket. Half charged. He turned the ringer up. "When did he say he would call?"

"He didn't, but Alfred I don't think you should-"

Alfred's phone rang. He hushed Arthur, didn't recognize the number and answered. "Where the hell is he!"

"Ah, Alfred," Ivan's voice sounded from the speaker. "The front desk tells me you checked out and Matvey is not-"

Alfred hung up.

"What the hell are you doing!" Arthur demanded.

"It wasn't him, I need to save battery." Alfred started pacing between the dumpster and opposite wall. He had his gun but no bullets. No money to buy more, Matthew still had that. Arthur was broke so he couldn't borrow from him. Trying to hold up a gun store in the middle of the day, in the middle of the city, with nothing but a bluff to carry him through wasn't something Alfred wanted to try either. He had no means of transportation or communication, and wherever Max was he certainly had the upper hand.

When his phone rang again he didn't recognize the number. When he picked up Ivan was once again on the other line, "That was not very polite."

Alfred hung up and stopped his pacing to add the number to his contacts under: ASSHOLE. He couldn't keep wasting battery life on Ivan, Max could call any time soon or even late into the evening. Unable to return home for fear of an ambush and with no money to buy a new charger, Alfred needed to use his phone as little as possible.

He looked at Arthur. "You got bullets at home?"

"No, I don't own a gun." Arthur replied, watching Alfred start pacing again.

"No money?"

"Obviously not or I wouldn't have gone to Francis yesterday."

Alfred wandered around the confined space, wracking his brain for solutions. A few tense minutes passed before he spoke, "Lets go to your place."

 

* * *

 

 

Nearly forty minutes had passed since Matthew's interrogation began. At one point Max told him that things would get painful if he didn't comply, but Matt was quick to answer every question he could so the man had spared him any bruises.

Almost every reply Matthew had given was a lie. He claimed to work for the Mensaur family, telling Max everything he seemed to want to hear. Matthew said that he and his brother were hitmen, like Max. Yes, they were also the infamous Skin Brothers but, he claimed, that time as solo killers was behind them. How long had they worked under Boss Albin, head of the Mensaur family, Max had wanted to know. Matthew said two years, the same amount of time he and Alfred had lived in New York City.

Matthew only gave as much information as absolutely necessarily. His lies needed to be simple, easy to remember, and as close to the truth as they could be or else he would quickly lose track of his own tales. Through this method, he managed to pull information out of Max.

Apparently this Antonio character was one of Ivan's victims. _What were the flowers supposed to mean? What message were you trying to send?_ Max had asked. _I only do what I'm told_ , Matthew replied. _What about Russian? Do the Mensaurs have ties to a Russian mob family now as well?_ Max wanted to know _. I don't know, they wrote it down for me and said to put it there,_ Matthew said with a shrug.

Max demanded to know who was taking over the family after their leader, Albin, apparently died. Matthew said he wasn't directly part of the organization so he wasn't privy to that information. Was it a man named Lancaster, Max had pushed, would it be Washington, Jeremiah, Esther? Someone else on the counsel? Matthew said he didn't know.

Most importantly, Matthew learned who it was, exactly, that set Max on them in the first place: the Maletta family's Boss, a man named Roderich. From the way Max spoke of him, they weren't close.

Max leaned back in his hair, his feet up on the desk, "I get why they wanted Fernandez dead, but why Vargas?"

"I only do what they tell me to," Matthew said for the umpteenth time.

"You never ask for details?"

He shook his head.

"Too bad Roderich didn't get to you first, he'd love to have someone like that," Max laughed.

"You like to know?" Matthew asked, partially curiosity, mostly an attempt to stall his impending doom.

Max dug around in his pockets as he spoke, "Most people like to know why they're killing someone."

"Do you like it?" Matthew asked, watching the man grow more frustrated as he failed to locate whatever it was he was searching for.

Max leaned down and started going through the drawers, "Like what, killing people?"

Matthew nodded.

"It pays the bills. Where the hell is- oh!" He pulled his silver cigar case from the desk. "There you are.

"Anyway," he closed the drawer and leaned back again, "Albin only hired you two?"

Matt shrugged, "I-"

"Only do what they tell you," Max said flatly, "yeah, I know."

A moment of silence descended between them.

"So, what now?" Matthew asked, soft voice seeming much larger in the open room. "Are you going to kill me?"

"Not yet."

_Thank goodness_ , he thought. If he died now everything he learned would never make it back to Alfred. At least if he could tell his brother what he knew, the man could avenge him.

"If I kill you now, your brother might not have any reason to come here. I've got some questions for him, too." Max said, taking his feet off the desk and letting them fall to the clean floor with two dull thuds. When he stood the chair squeaked.

"I'm bait," Matthew said. Of course he knew that if Max killed him now, Alfred would still come. He might show up even faster.

"Damn right." Max picked Matthew's phone up off the table, "I'm going to call him, and you're going to tell him what I say to tell him."

"And then?"

"And then you stop playing twenty questions," Max said. He navigated to the contacts list and laughed. "Three people?"

Matthew squirmed under her gaze but didn't respond.

"Here," Max said, handing the phone to him. Alfred's contact page was already open. He pushed his suit jacket back a bit, reminding Matthew of his gun. "Don't get stupid, just say what I tell you to."

 

* * *

 

Alfred sat on Arthur's couch, expression tense and one leg nervously bouncing. His phone was plugged in and almost nearly at full charge. At least he didn't have to worry about it dying when he needed it. It had been nearly half an hour since they arrived and he still hadn't heard any news about his brother. Matthew was gone, stolen right out from under him. His sibling, his own flesh and blood, snatched up and taken who knows where. Alfred's jaw tightened.

Arthur was unsure of what to say. He was used to Alfred pacing around when he was angry, yelling and ranting, impulsively hitting or throwing whatever was within arm's reach. This kind of enraged silence was concerning. The room's tense atmosphere was beginning to give him a headache so he went over to the bar to make himself something alcoholic.

"Want anything?" He asked.

Alfred shook his head.

"Suit yourself," Arthur said, leaning down to pull a bottle of scotch from under the bar. He dropped two ice cubes into his glass then filled it with alcohol, each sound deafening in the otherwise silent apartment.

_What if he was already dead?_ The thought was heavy. Despite his preference for Alfred, Arthur and Matthew were friends. He was worried for the man, but at the same time he had expected something like this. If the men weren't killed during some botched murder, Arthur expected to turn on the news some day and find that they had been apprehended by the police, or even just gunned down in the street. He sipped his drink.

Alfred's phone rang, making them both jump.

"Fucking finally!" Alfred cried, scrambling from the couch and across the room and grabbing his phone. He saw his brother's name and with a tiny sliver of hope that the man had managed to deal with the issue himself, he answered.

"Al," Matthew's voice came through the speaker.

"Mattie, are you alright? Where are you?"

Arthur moved quietly toward him, holding his curiosity until the phone call was over.

Matthew told Alfred what Max wanted; The address of the warehouse, and to come alone. No cops, obviously, or they would all end up dead.

"He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No, I'm- Ouch! Sorry Alfred, I can't say anything else." Matthew said and the line disconnected.

"What did he say?" Arthur finally asked.

"He wants me to come there. I know what building they're talking about, though," Alfred said. "We scouted it out last year. It's not too far from here by car, but there's no buses that go very close."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm gonna go get him."

Arthur frowned, "You'll be walking straight into a bullet if you go."

"I don't care." Alfred stood and pushed his phone into his pocket.

"I'm coming with you," Arthur said, knocking back the rest of his drink and setting the glass on an end table.

"No you're not."

"Like hell I'm not!" Arthur insisted.

Alfred moved toward the door, "Give me your keys."

"I can drive," Arthur said, following behind him.

"Artie," Alfred snapped, suddenly turning and grabbing the man by the shoulders. His grip was painfully tight, the stress he was trying to suppress in his voice coming out in his tense muscles. "If you come with me, you might get shot. _You might die_."

"I'll be-" Arthur began, but a hard shake silenced him.

"I won't be able to protect you," Alfred insisted. "I can't lose my best friend and my brother in the same fucking day, Artie. I can't deal with that. So just stay here and wait for me, alright? _Alright_?"

Arthur stared up at Alfred, his protest dying in his throat. After a moment he spoke, his voice uncharacteristically small, "You might not come back."

"Give me your keys," Alfred said, releasing him. Arthur pointed to the key rack beside the door, something Alfred had been too distracted to notice earlier. He grabbed them and opened the door. "Where's it parked?"

"It's the black Bentley," Arthur said, "The spot is near the garage entrance. There's a sign, it says 'penthouse.'"

"Thank you," Alfred said, starting to leave before changing his mind. He stepped back in and pulled Arthur into an almost painfully tight hug. "Take care of yourself, alright? If I don't come back."

He was gone before Arthur could formulate a response, the door slowly falling shut behind him.


	17. Chapter 17

"Alfred!" Ivan called, spreading his arms out in a welcoming gesture. Smoke from the cigarette in his right hand trailed a smooth gray line through the air. "I had worried you were playing the prank on me."

Alfred slammed the Bently's door shut and walked the short distance across the small, deserted parking lot behind a condemned apartment building. His hands clenched into fists and relaxed repetitively, each movement making the pain in his stitched hand and his raw knuckles flair. His jaw was tight, everything in his nature screaming at him to get back in that car and crush Ivan between the grill and the brick wall behind him.

Now was not the time for revenge. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed Ivan's help. He was up shit creek without a paddle, and Ivan was the only person who knew that he know would assist him. He was also a man Alfred wouldn't mind dying in the process.

"Mattie's gone," he said.

Ivan took a long, contemplative drag from his cigarette, "I feared something had happened."

"Max took him."

Ivan didn't look impressed. "Why did he not take you?"

"I was at the store."

"You left him alone."

Alfred bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. Ivan didn't seem the least bit distressed by the news. It was almost as if he were gloating, reveling in Alfred's mistake. He took a deep breath to calm himself then, in a tight voice, said, "He can't go in stores, I didn't have a choice."

Ivan only nodded. He took one more slow drag, the cherry of his cigarette nearly touching the filter, and dropped it on the pavement. "Is he dead?"

"No, he's being held hostage," Alfred explained. "Max called me on his phone and gave me the address. He wants me to go there so he can kill us both. That's what I would do. He can't shoot us in broad daylight, right in the middle of the city."

"What do you intend to do?"

Alfred forced the words out through his teeth, "I need your help."

"I did not think you would even wish to speak with me," Ivan said with a shrug, the tiny ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"I don't!" Alfred snapped, taking a step toward Ivan. He was so angry that he was shaking. "I'd kill you right now if Mattie didn't need us. Stop being a fucking asshole for a minute and help me!"

Ivan actually _laughed_ , a tiny giggle into the side of his fist, "I will never tire of you begging me, Alfred."

Alfred's expression darkened, "Shut up."

"I am glad yesterday was not the last time I would hear your pretty voice saying how much you need me."

" _Shut up_ ," Alfred snapped, taking another step closer. His entire body felt hot, the boiling rage inside of him even dulling the pain in his still-healing palm as his hands balled into tight fists.

"Ask me nicely, like before," Ivan carried on. " _Please, please, please Ivan, I need it_."

"Shut the _fuck_ up you fucking faggo-"

Ivan's fist connected with his jaw and Alfred saw stars. The whole world pitched and he dropped to the ground like a stone, his hands instinctually clasping over his pained mouth.

"Do not call me that," Ivan growled, glaring down at him.

Alfred moaned in a mix of shock and pain. His mind swam for a second, his stomach turning sharply, before everything eased back into place. Alfred was shocked; he hadn't been hit that hard in his entire life. Even after the world stopped spinning, his vision was blurry. He blinked a few times, worried, and then realized that his glasses must have flown off and landed on the ground somewhere nearby.

"What the fuck!" He snapped, shakily dragging himself from the dirty ground.

"Matvey is not here anymore, Alfred," Ivan said darkly. "I do not need to swallow your insults and slurs."

He took a step toward him, using his superior height to its full advantage, "Call me a faggot one more time and I will rip you apart."

Despite the pain in his jaw, Alfred met Ivan's stare with equal aggression, "I can't want to put a few bullets in your head."

"Try me," Ivan sneered.

Their glares bored into one another, neither willing to back down. In the distance, a car alarm began to wail.

Alfred had never hated someone more than he hated Ivan right then. He wanted to strike, break his nose, knock the teeth from his smug mouth, stomp his face into the ground until even his dental records wouldn't be enough to identify him. He was so angry that it make him sick, his stomach doing aggravated flops so strongly that he worried he was going to throw up then and there.

Instead of doing any of that, he stepped back. As much as he hated Ivan, he loved Matthew more.

"This isn't important right now, we have to save Mattie," he said.

Ivan's expression softened into a smile so smoothly that Alfred seriously questioned the legitimacy of his earlier anger. "Your relationship warms my heart."

"Find my damn glasses," Alfred snapped, too fed up top bother wondering how much of what Ivan said was praise, and how much was mockery. "I can't kick Max's ass if I can't see."

"What do you intend to do?" Ivan asked, scanning the ground and quickly locating the missing spectacles.

"Something sneaky, probably. It's the best chance."

"Do you know your way around the area?" Ivan asked, bending to retrieve the glasses. When he handed them to Alfred, the man snatched them away and pushed them on without any thanks.

"No, we've only been there once and it was a long time ago. Its probably Max's stomping ground so I don't think there's a way in he doesn't know about."

"Sneaking may not work if that is the case."

"Where is my gun?"

Ivan laughed, "I am no fool, Alfred."

He grit his teeth. "I need it to deal with Max."

"After you deal with me?" Ivan asked deridingly.

"Where is it god damn it!" Alfred snapped.

"I do not have it, I dropped it off somewhere safe until you can calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down!" Alfred yelled. "How do you expect me to kill an assassin without any weapons!

"You know what? Fuck it," Alfred said, turning around to walk back to the car. "Come on, I got an idea."

"What is it?" Ivan asked, heading toward the passenger door.

"I'll explain on the way."

 

* * *

 

"When did you move to the states?" Matthew asked. His eyes were trained firmly on his own lap, specifically on the frayed fabric of his jeans that he had been picking at for the past fifteen minutes.

Max thought on it for a while before replying, "Almost a decade now... Somewhere between 2000 and 2002. I was already working in Cuba and some people I knew suggested me to Roderich. He offered me a job and it paid a hell of a lot better so I took it. I'm not here legally but that doesn't matter when you work under a Family. I've thought about applying for citizenship but its..."

Matthew nodded without looking up from the white threads sticking out of his pants. His interest in what the man said was legitimate. He liked knowing about people, even the most mundane personal facts, and it was simple to get Max on a roll talking about one thing or the other. The man clearly enjoyed chatting about himself.

He didn't come off as conceited though, Matthew noticed. He was just a talkative, friendly person. His personality was so jovial, in fact, that Matthew had a hard time understanding why he had chosen such a harsh and cruel profession.

"...wanted to go on vacation to Milan but my schedule is tight so I still haven't gone." Max finished with a wistful sigh.

"Why Milan?" This time, he spared the man a look although he didn't lift his head.

Max shrugged, "It seems like a nice place."

Matthew's eyes dropped back down to focus on his lap and he nodded, "Good enough reason as any."

The room was quiet. Max shifted in his seat to peek into one of the desk drawers. Matthew was starting to think there was a security camera feed in there, probably attached to a small TV that flipped through camera placements periodically. Max was relaxed and hadn't gotten up to check out the door at any point since they arrived, and Matthew doubted he was stupid enough to uncaringly allow Alfred to approach the building unseen.

Apparently no one was there so Max turned his attention to his gun - a gold-plated fifty caliber Desert Eagle - sitting on the desk in front of him. He picked it up and, for the second time in the warehouse, off-handedly polished it with a handkerchief.

Minutes ticked by with only Max's soft whistling to fill the quiet air.

"Can I stretch my legs?" Matthew asked and when Max nodded he stood up to pace around without moving far enough away from the desk to risk Max thinking he was trying to run.

Matthew looked around the space as he wandered. It had changed drastically from the decrepit abandoned building it had been when he and Alfred scoped it out so long ago. No windows, only one door. Matthew was almost disappointed he and his brother hadn't taken the spot more seriously as a potential kill ground or body dump.

Shot dead in a place where he had considered killing people in the past. Matthew wondered if that would be irony or just coincidental.

"Why did you decide to be a hitman?" He asked after a while, turning his attention to Max but not yet ready to sit.

"Why did you decide to kill a bunch of people for no reason?" Max retorted. His tone wasn't mocking or judgmental, it was said out of pure curiosity.

Matthew stared at him until Max looked up to meet his eye. Dropping his gaze to the floor, Matthew scuffed the toe of one sneaker on the white tile a few times as he spoke, "It feels good."

Max stayed quiet, his dark brown eyes going back to the work he was doing on his gun.

"If something feels good, you should do it, right?" Matthew said, the man's silence urging him to continue.

"I think that mentality has its limits."

"I couldn't stop now," Matthew said.

"You could."

Matthew looked up at Max again, "I won't be happy without it."

Max turned his gun to its side and scrubbed at a small stain, "There are other ways to have fun."

A long moment of quiet passed before Matthew spoke again, "I-"

An incredible explosion of concrete and fibrous insulation blasted from the wall to Matthew's left. A black car missed running Matthew down by only a few precious inches and collided with the desk, sending it violently crashing across warehouse. The force of it threw Max backwards in his chair and his gun was flung from his hand toward the far side of the room. The car's front was irrevocably totaled, a worrisome amount of gray smoke billowed from the crumpled hood, accompanied by a loud hissing before the vehicle stalled and fell silent.

The driver door jerked open, the sound of metal scraping metal painfully loud in the large room, and Alfred tumbled out onto the floor with a pained-sounding grumble of, " _Fuck, fuck, shit, fuck_."

Matthew stood where he was, eyes wide and mouth agape. On the other side of the car, Max hopped up off the ground. His lips pulled into an angry grimace as he fully processed what had happened.

This insane piece of shit had almost killed him! He surveyed the room for a second and, failing to locate his gun in the mess of rubble, he turned his attention back to the blond slowly dragging himself off the ground. He was bleeding heavily from a wound near his hairline, the dark red liquid pouring down his face and breaking into two smaller streaks at the eyebrow. The bleeding was heavy, but Max knew his way around head wounds. It was probably less severe than it looked.

Before Alfred had a chance to crawl to his feet, Max took three quick steps forward and kicked him in the ribs. The blond cried out and fell to his side. He kept his momentum and did a complete roll so he had the time to scramble up before Max laid into him. A punch narrowly missed Alfred's face but was quickly followed up by a successful hit to the gut.

Alfred took the blow, the adrenalin from his entrance numbing most of the pain, and struck back. His fist connected squarely with Max's jaw, sending him staggering back, but the man recovered and threw a right hook that Alfred barely managed to avoid.

Across from them, Matthew was searching the floor for anything sharp to use to cut his binds. The ground was littered in rubble and dirt, with tiny shards of broken glass from the car's side windows. Nothing large enough to free himself. Across from him Alfred and Max were still fighting and it was obvious that Alfred was going to lose. His stitched hand still had trouble making a proper fist and he was limping, obviously hurt from the stunt he had just pulled. He didn't have his glasses, probably took them off so he wouldn't lose them in the crash, so he couldn't see as well as he should have. His left eye was red with blood, further obscuring his vision. If Matthew couldn't intervene soon, they would both end up overpowered.

"Matvey," Ivan's voice sounded from behind him, making Matthew jump.

"Ivan- What- Why are you here?" He asked, shocked to see the man standing behind him.

"I would not abandon you," Ivan said with a smile and took Matthew's hand in his own. He used Matt's Buck knife to cut the wrist ties loose then handed it to him handle-first.

"Alfred needs our help," Matthew said.

"I cannot let that man see me," Ivan said, "He may work for _them_."

"Who are you talking about?" Matthew asked, flabbergasted. Ivan mentioned some unknown group from time to time but he never specified as to who they were or why they may be pursuing him.

Ivan patted his hand, then turned to walk toward the front door, "That is not important right now, Matvey. Help your brother."

Alfred and Max's scuffle had moved them toward the middle of the room, away from the gaping hole in the wall. Max struck out, missed, Alfred tried to retaliate but Max managed to catch his hand before it could connect.

He was slowing down, Max noticed. Dark bruises were already starting to bloom across his tanned skin. He was obviously hurt and from the look of him, all the damage hadn't come from his stunt with the car. Max registered the dark threads of a clearly home-done stitch job on his hand. Without needing to think, he crushed his fingertips against the healing wound, digging his nails into the tender flesh and drawing blood.

Alfred screamed in pain, trying to yank his hand away and failing. Max wrenched his hand, twisting his wrist, and managed to bury one finger deep into Alfred's flesh before the man jolted forward suddenly, slamming his shoulder into Max's chest and knocking him off balance.

Alfred stumbled back, holding his throbbing hand close to himself, and glared at Max. He grit his teeth in frustration; angry that he hadn't gotten enough sleep the night before, that his body ached from head to toe, that his muscles quivered with what he could only assume was withdrawals from the remnants of drugs leaving his system, from his aching jaw where Ivan had punched him earlier. His pulse thundered in his ears. Everything was blurry and tinted red. His own breathing sounded ragged, far away, and the edges of his vision were rapidly darkening. Maybe his entrance plan hadn't been a good one. Maybe he hit his head a little too hard when Arthur's car collided with the concrete wall, despite his use of the seatbelt.

All at once it dawned on him that he couldn't win.

Max took a step forward and Alfred steeled himself for the next attack. If winning this fight was impossible, so be it. He would buy Matthew time to escape. The idea of leaving his brother in Ivan's care made his stomach twist with rage, but anything was better than letting him die.

Max pulled his hand back, ready to throw another punch, when he let out a scream of agony and staggered forward. Burning pain sliced through his back and side and for a second he thought he had been shot. He turned his head and saw Matthew there, two hands gripping a large hunting knife, the blade of which was completely buried in Max's side. Matthew didn't look up at him when he twisted the knife and gave it a hard push, tearing a long line in Max's flesh until blood gushed openly from the wound.

The sound Max made was choked, hardly a squeak, as he yanked himself away from the knife and stumbled backwards. His hand pressed hard on the wound, struggling to slow the bleeding. Blood soaked his hand, his jacket, seeped down to his slacks and some dripped off his fingers to splatter on the floor.

_How? How had he gotten free? Where did he get a knife?!_ Max thought frantically, the pain lancing out with every breath he took.

Matthew spun the knife around so he could hold it with the blade parallel to his forearm and took an offensive stance. His movements were slow, he wasn't the most athletic guy, but Max was too wounded to dodge effectively. He swiped at him, catching the man's upper arm this time. Max's sleeve separated easily and a long line of red was left cut into his arm.

"Shit," Max growled when he saw Alfred regain his composure and move toward him as well. He couldn't take them both at once. Maybe without the wound in his side, but the bleeding was profuse and he already felt dizzy.

In one swift movement he reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a small silver cylinder, pulled the pin with his teeth and threw it on the floor.

A light so bright that it blinded Matthew and Alfred completely was followed almost instantly by a deafening boom. The brothers cried out in pain, their vision replaced by pure white and their ears ringing. Slowly the shock faded and their vision swam into dim, washed-out focus.

"Where is he!" Alfred yelled more loudly than he would need to if it weren't for the incessant ringing in his ears. He looked around the space and, despite his compromised eyesight, it was clear that Max had used the confusion to escape.

Matthew groped around, eyes adjusting more slowly than his brother's, until he managed to grab a hold of his shirt, "I can't see."

"That's because he used a damn flash bang," Alfred said, taking his brother's hand from the fabric and holding it in his own. He gave it a firm squeeze, happy to feel the warmth of life in it. "Come on, we'll catch him outside."

"His gun," Matthew said. "It should be around here somewhere, find it before we go."

"What direction did it-" Alfred began then noticed a glimmer of gold a few feet away, half buried in debris. He released Matthew's hand and hurried over to the shine and, after clearing dust and concrete chunks away, let out a pleased sound to find that it was a gun. A much nicer one that his own, in fact. A cell phone laid a few feet away so he grabbed that too.

"Come on," he grabbed Matthew's wrist and tugged him toward the door, following a trail of fresh blood.

Outside, there was only Ivan.

"Where did he go?" Alfred demanded.

"He drove away," Ivan replied.

"I told you to cut his damn brakes!" Alfred snapped.

Ivan chuckled, more than a little embarrassed, "I tried but... I have never owned a car. I could not find them."

Anger boiled inside of Alfred until he felt Matthew's hand on his own. All at once the rage, the fear and adrenaline crashed, leaving him feeling weak and nauseous. Wind, mercifully cool, blew over his sweaty skin and he wanted nothing more at that moment than to lie down where he was a fall asleep.

"Are you o-" Matthew began and was cut short when Alfred spun around and pulled him into a crushing hug. He let out a small peep as his brother littered kisses over his face and when Alfred pulled away, Matthew was surprised to see tears streaming down his cheeks.

"I am now," Alfred said, almost breathless.

Both of them startled when Ivan pulled them toward himself and into a group hug. "I am so glad my boyfriends are safe," he said, sighing happily.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Alfred growled, trying to push the man away but finding his muscles didn't even have the energy to manage that.

"You hate to cheat, da?"

"Obviously," he said through clenched teeth. Why did Ivan had to bring _that_ up now, of all times?

"Well, it is not cheating is we are dating."

Matthew raised an eyebrow, "Ivan, isn't that..."

Alfred glared at him for a long moment, and then his expression softened. "I guess that's true."

"What?" Matthew sputtered, shocked. That was the last thing he had expected his brother to say.

"He's right, I guess. In some insane way." Alfred said, his eyelids drooping as fatigue began to overwhelm him. "I don't want to deal with this right now, so whatever. Sure. We're all dating."

Ivan released them and bounced where he stood happily, "Alfred, you will not regret this."

Matthew frowned. He had known Alfred long enough to know when he was behaving strangely. He didn't push the issue though; his brother was near passing out and any more stress would probably end with him collapsed on the pavement. He would retract his agreement after a long rest, Matthew was sure.

"What shall we do now?" Ivan asked.

"We can't go home..." Matthew said, running through their options in his head. "And Max knows about Arthur's apartment. We can't afford to get a hotel room and that car is totaled..."

"What about Artie's friend? Frances or something," Alfred supplied, leaning his head to rest against Matthew's shoulder.

"We'll have to walk," Matthew said.

"I don't care, I just want to lay down," Alfred murmured. wiping the blood from his eyes with the bottom of his shirt. "Let's go."


	18. Chapter 18

Ivan had suggested taking a bus rather than walking the long and winding path back to this building but Matthew vehemently refused. Ivan belabored the point because, despite the cooling pre-fall air, he was tired from the past few days and didn't fancy the idea of walking miles when they could have easily hopped on a bus or taken a cab. Once again Matthew refused and this time Alfred jumped in to agree with his brother; cabs were expensive, buses were crowded, and if Matt said no that was the end of it.

And so the walk was a long and slow affair up and down various streets, Matthew helping Alfred along as he limped and shuffled his increasingly achy body to their destination. He refused both Ivan's offer to carry him, and a less intrusive attempt to shift the burden from Matthew for a while. Eventually Ivan gave up and fell back behind them to smoke.

By the time they arrived at Francis' brothel it was well past noon. There were only two girls outside the building, a stark contrast from the high traffic of girls walking the streets when they visited earlier.

"It's closed," Matthew said aloud after reading the sign posted on the door.

"Go in anyway," Alfred mumbled, leaning heavily against his brother.

Matthew frowned, "You can't just walk in when a place is closed."

"Excuse me," Ivan said, his voice strained. He was tired and sore and couldn't care less about the siblings' stupid squabbling. He shuffled them aside and opened the door. Soft harp music floated through the entryway, setting all three of them more at ease. A lovely older woman with braided brunette hair and a sleek white dress was at the front counter looking through various documents when the trio hobbled into the room.

"Ah, I'm sorry but we are closed for the girls' lunch break," she said, her sensual voice husky from years of smoking.

"We need to speak with Francis," Ivan said.

"Do you have an appointment?" The woman asked, pulling a large ring-bound schedule from a desk drawer.

"No, but we are friends of a friend."

"I'm very sorry sirs, but Papa isn't taking open visits at the moment."

Alfred ran his hand over his face in frustration, "Just tell him Artie's vouching for us."

"Mister Kirkland would have to be here himself," she replied, her voice genuinely sympathetic. Made sense, Alfred thought. Ivan was tired but fine overall whereas Matt and himself had been banged up pretty badly over the past day. They must have looked pretty suspicious.

"Call him," Matthew whispered in Alfred's ear.

Before he put his plan to rescue Matthew to the test, he had handed his phone and glasses over to Ivan for safe keeping.  He got his glasses back but apparently forgot his cell in his exhaustion. Alfred turned to Ivan, "Give me my phone, I gotta call Artie."

Ivan did as he was asked and pulled the man's phone from his pocket. The call was a short one but the following wait for him to arrive was trying on all of them. Particularly Alfred; he was practically falling asleep on the waiting couch. The adrenaline crash mixed with the beating he had taken completely wiped him. Despite Matthew's insistence he stay awake, he was dozing fitfully by the time Arthur came rushing through the door.

"Alfred, you're alright," he panted, his worried expression turning into a relieved grin. That elation faded a bit when his eyes landed on Matthew but the smile returned so quickly that it was a nearly imperceptible change. Arthur's mouth felt dry when he chuckled, "You're alright too, Matthew."

Matthew laughed lamely, "I was in a pretty bad situation. It's a good thing Alfred and Ivan got there when they did."

Arthur was shocked to find himself _disappointed_. What the hell was wrong with him? They had been friends nearly the same length of time he'd known Alfred. Sure they weren't as close but the fact remained; they were friends and for one horrible moment Arthur had looked forward to his death. Maybe he'd been hanging onto that hope since Matthew had first been taken.

Matthew's voice was a dull hum in the wake of his guilt, "Thank you for worrying."

"Of course I was worried," he said gently, shoving the sickening shame as deeply into the back of his mind as he could. "What about Max?"

"He got away," Alfred muttered without opening his eyes. He motioned one hand lazily in Ivan's direction, "That asshole fucked up and let him escape."

Ivan shrugged exaggeratedly.

"He took the money," Matthew lamented, hanging his head. "We can't afford even a cheap motel and we can't go anywhere he might look."

"Ask Frank if we can stay here," Alfred said.

"Francis," Arthur corrected, "Anyway I'll ask him, wait here."

The woman at the front desk allowed Arthur to pass without any trouble, even going as far to thank him for coming. Usually the women up front escorted him back but she stayed; Arthur assumed that was an order directly from Francis. He couldn't blame the man for his caution, Alfred and Matthew looked a mess and he didn't know them. They weren't business partners, customers or acquaintances. Francis was a kind man, but he wasn't stupid. He would never allow strange men to mill around his waiting room unattended.

Arthur knocked, letting today's three heavy metal rings (one on his pointer, two on his middle) clack against the wood. A quiet moment passed - Arthur rolled his eyes at being kept waiting - and Francis called him in. The room was as atmospheric as always; the lights set low, gentle music, some cologne that Arthur couldn't name tickled at his nose. Francis was sat back in the large arm chair near the cold fireplace, his long hair tied low and cascading over his shoulder.

"You cannot keep bringing people here," he said.

Arthur shut the door behind himself and moved to flop down in the chair opposite his host. No greeting? Francis was more upset than he expected. "Why not?"

"They are trouble, Arthur," Francis said, sitting up straight. "I don't like trouble in my line of work."

"What makes you think that?"

"They come here suddenly using you to beg for things, and now look at them!" Francis stressed, throwing his hands up in disbelief. "There is no reason not to think those people were strange!"

"They're not-"

"I don't know why you speak with them- no, no," Francis said, cutting Arthur's response off before it had a chance to form, "I don't want to know. Don't tell me. As I was saying, I don't know - or want to know - why you associate with them, but I would suggest cutting ties."

"They're not any trouble," Arthur insisted, sitting up straight.

"You think I'm a fool," Francis sighed.

"I don't."

"You do!"

"They won't bring any trouble here, I promise."

They stared at each other for a moment. Francis was clearly unconvinced, leaning to the right with one hand supporting his head. He was looking at Arthur like one would a disobedient child, frustrated, tired, concerned. Arthur returned his look with a hard glare.

When was the last time he'd had a bump, he wondered. What time was it? How much did he have left? How was-

"One of them was rude to my girl last time he was here," Francis said, his expression darkening. Arthur cleared his throat and tried harder to focus. "It's my job to protect these women, I won't allow someone who mistreats them to be here."

"They won't go anywhere around the girls, I promise." Arthur didn't want Alfred around them anyway.

"I do not tolerate disrespect toward my women."

"It won't happen again."

Francis nodded despite clearly not being fully convinced. "And the tall one?"

"What about him?"

"He stares," Francis explained. "At me."

"I'll talk to him about it," Arthur promised. It was about time he learned about the man anyway, since it was clear he wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon. At least Alfred seemed to hate him, Arthur thought. Less competition.

_Aside from Matthew_ , he found himself thinking. The heavy feeling of guilt in his belly returned.

They sat there a moment quietly before Arthur spoke again, "I would take them to my place if I could."

"Arthur," Francis said, leaning back in his chair and twirling a lock of his long hair around his finger idly. "What am I to you?"

"What?"

"Am I an ATM? A pharmacy? A hotel?"

"I don't-"

"You don't speak to me unless you need something," Francis elaborated, his demeanor distant. "I am not a vending machine. If you only speak to me to take, you don't need to come back here again."

Arthur blinked, shocked at the man's bluntness. He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. Francis was right - what had been the last time he visited purely to _visit_? When was the last time dropping by didn't come attached with a request of some kind?

"I'm sorry," he slowly said, choosing his words carefully. "You're right, I've been rude.

"I've been so busy with everything - my work, my personal life - that I haven't made time for you or anyone else, really."

Francis looked at him, his blue eyes searching his face. For what, Arthur wondered. Signs of deception? Disrespect? Francis' expression twisted into something unreadable but surely nothing positive.

"They can stay," Francis eventually said, catching Arthur off guard. He hadn't expected the man to concede.

"They won't be long," Arthur reassured him.

"Two days," Francis said, lifting two fingers to emphasize his point. "After that, I want them gone."

Arthur nodded, "Of course."

Francis sighed, a long, low sound straight from his core, and sat up straight, "You can stay here as long as you need to, if you need to."

"Thank you, Francis." Arthur said. For all of their disagreements, the man remained good. Arthur promised himself he would spend more time with Francis; He annoyed him sometimes, enough to make him want to scream, but Francis was an important constant in his life and had been for years. If Arthur really was the gentleman he claimed to be, it was only natural that he'd treat his friends better. Maybe he could convince Francis to do a few lines together.

"Come on," Francis said, standing. "I'll have Marie give you a room key."

"Thank you," Arthur followed the man out of the room.

"I can only spare one bed. This is a place of business, those rooms are usually for customers."

"It's not a problem," Arthur said. The rooms had couches and enough extra pillows to make a bed on the floor.

"Marie," Francis called out. The woman at the counter perked up from her work.

"Yes, Papa?" She asked, her tone chipper and light.

"Get a room key, they'll be there a couple days."

She nodded and typed a few things into the computer before turning around to grab a key.

"If they do anything to make any of the girls uncomfortable, ask them to leave," Francis explained, looking directly toward Alfred, Matthew and Ivan.

He turned his attention back to Arthur, "I'll be out until this evening. If you need anything, let Marie, or whomever is at the front desk, know and they'll get it for you."

"We won't be much trouble," Arthur assured him.

"I hope not," Francis said, and with that he left.

"Come with me, gentlemen," Marie called out to them and started climbing the of stairs.

"Alfred, wake up," Matthew whispered to his brother, shaking him gently until he awoke with a groan.

"Fuck you, let me sleep," he grumbled but Matthew kept shaking him until he finally sat up straight.

"Come on," Matthew said, standing up. "Arthur got us a room."

"Kickass," Alfred said, his voice rough and devoid of any real enthusiasm. He took Matthew's outstretched hand and pulled himself to standing.

They all followed Marie up the red-carpeted stairs and down the left hall until they reached a door at the far end. She unlocked the door and held the key out for any of them to take. When Arthur took it she nodded politely and after reminding them to contact her if they needed anything, she departed.

"Francis gave us two days," Arthur said. He let Alfred shuffle inside ahead of him. "After that, we'll have to find somewhere else to go."

"I'm sure we'll figure something out," Matthew said. He was just happy to have a place at all. Although it had been a while since the need arose, he and his brother spent the night outdoors a few times in the past. Anything was better than that. 

Ivan started into the room but hung back when Matthew gently touched his chest with the back of his hand. "Can you guys wait a little bit? He and I need to talk about some stuff."

Ivan nodded, "Of course, Matvey."

"Text me whenever you're done," Arthur said.

"Thank you," Matthew said, then slipped into the room after his brother and shut the door behind himself.

Ivan turned his attention to Arthur, his violet eyes boring into him despite his gentle smile, "It is just me and you."

"I suppose it is," Arthur replied hesitantly.

 

* * *

 

"I don't know if you should be sleeping."

"I'm tired," Alfred's voice was muffled against the burgundy comforter.

"You might have a concussion," Matthew pressed, slipping his shoes off beside the door. The shaggy deep brown carpet was soft against his socked feet. He took a moment to survey his surroundings; as ornate as the rest of the building, with a large bed piled with silken pillows at the other side of the room against the center of the wall, two long windows framing it and covered in thick crimson curtains. Against the left wall was a black love seat adjacent a wall-mounted TV. The space was tastefully decorated with scenic nature paintings hung on both walls diagonal one another, a potted fern of some kind near the bed and a hanging plant close to the door. Off to the right was the door to the bathroom and beside that, tucked into an indented wall, was a medium-sized hot tub.

"Good," Alfred didn't move from his place face-first against the mattress.

Matthew shook his head but didn't say anything more. It had been a stressful day for all of them and Alfred had taken the most of it. Instead of arguing, he went over to the hot tub and twisted the handles until the water was the perfect temperature; hot, but not painful. While the basin filled he went over and knelt at the end of the bed and pulled Alfred's shoes from his feet, then socks. He set those aside and stood so he could gently coax his brother into rolling on his back.

"I said I was tired," Alfred protested flatly, despite rolling easily along as Matthew guided him.

"If you sleep now you're going to be too sore to move tomorrow."

"Don't care." His pants and boxers slipped down his hips and off to be tossed on the floor.

"You're filthy."

He was lifted to sitting. "Don't care."

"I care."

"Don't care." His shirt went up over his head to join the articles on the floor. When Matthew released him he flopped back onto the bed.

Matthew put his hands on his own hips, "Don't lay back down, you're getting in the tub."

Alfred reached his arms up, "Come lay with me."

"We can't keep Arthur and Ivan waiting forever."

"Why not?"

"Because that's rude, Alfred," Matthew huffed. His arms fell to his sides as he sighed in defeat and climbed onto the bed to lay down beside Alfred and rest his head on the man's chest. Alfred didn't speak, just wrapped his arms around Matthew and squeezed him firmly. Matt's eyes slipped shut and he listened to Alfred's heart thump in his chest and the soft sound of his breathing. Every time it got too slow, too peaceful, Matthew would move a bit to wake Alfred; if he really did have a concussion Matthew didn't want him slipping off into a coma, and if not he didn't want to have to go through the trouble of dragging him back into wakefulness.

A few minutes passed before Matthew pried himself out of Alfred's arms and got up to turn the tub's water off. While working to remove his jeans he hailed his brother, "Come on, the water's ready."

Alfred groaned in frustration but slowly sat up. However tired he was, the prospect of being unbearably sore and stiff the next morning drove him to actually listen to do what he was asked. He shuffled across the room, yawning with his mouth open wide, and stepped into the tub. He let out a soft purr of happiness as he slid his aching body into the hot water.

Matthew got in after him and pressed the button on the left side to activate the jets then leaned back beside Alfred. He let out a long, contented sigh. How long had it been since they used one of these? He couldn't even remember. Must have been years. Matthew leaned back, his body submerged up to the chin, and rested the back on his head against the side of the tub.

"Alright Mattie, I gotta admit," Alfred muttered. "This was a good idea."

Matthew nodded without opening his eyes, "Told you."

Alfred slipped under the water for a moment to wet his hair and rinse the remaining flakes of dried blood off his face (they had tried to clean him up before they went into the busier part of the city but they could only do so much with sleeves and shirt hems). When he came up he pushed his hair out of his face, the water plastering most of his hair but for a few stray strands back on his head.

"What's up?" He asked, still blinking water out of his eyes, when Matthew's hand landed softly on his shoulder. He started to ask again but fell silent when he was gently turned and Matthew's lips pressed against his own. It was soft, undemanding, just an affectionate peck on his lips.

Somewhere in his mind, Alfred wants to say, _Not right now, I'm not in the mood. Not right now, I'm sore and exhausted. Not right now, you hurt me so much I can't stand it_. Before he had a chance to say any of these things, Matthew spoke.

"You saved me."

Alfred's throat tightened and when he spoke it came out as a whisper against Matthew's lips, "No shit."

"It was really cool," Matthew said, a small smile forming on his face. His hands moved to Alfred's hips. "Even though you almost ran me over."

Alfred let himself be gently guided to straddle his brother. "Did he hit you on the head or something? You're never this nice."

"I'm always nice," Matthew said, running his fingers down the indent of Alfred's spine.

"Bullshit." Despite saying this, his back arched into the touch.

"I cook and clean and do the laundry for you all the time," Matthew pointed out. His wandering hand reached Alfred's ass and squeezed. "I'm nice."

Alfred just scoffed, "Never _this_ nice."

Matthew's finger brushed over Alfred's hole, electing a tiny gasp from the man. Using the pad of his middle finger he massaged the tight muscle, alternating between slow strokes from top to bottom and small circles. Alfred's hardening dick pressed against his own, sending the warmth of arousal through his body.

"You usually don't do anything that warrants me being _extra_ nice," he said, pushing into Alfred's body. Water was horrible as lube but Alfred hadn't been virginally tight for quite some time so, after little resistance, his fingertip sunk inside up to the second knuckle. "I'd say it was downright heroic."

Alfred pushed a forceful, needy kiss to his brother's lips. Matthew chuckled and reciprocated; Alfred was so simple. All it took to make him melt was to feed his insatiable ego, tell him how cool he was, how important. Alfred gasped and mewled into Matthew's mouth as the younger man thrust his finger into his body. Curled toward his belly to press against his sweet spot and make him thrust down against Matthew's cock.

"Be careful," Alfred gasped, his forehead resting against Matt's shoulder. "I'm still sore."

"I'm not gonna bite you or anything, you're all banged up."

"I meant inside," he muttered.

"Oh. Do you want to just?" He used his free hand to reach down and squeeze their cocks together.

Alfred shook his head, "I want you in me. Just go slow."

Matthew nodded and while he kept his hands busy he looked around for some sort of lubricant. This was a whore house, it had to have some KY or something lying around somewhere... Ah! And there it was, nestled in a small basket of complimentary single-use items on the hot tub in the opposite corner of the jet button. He released their dicks in favor of grabbing the small bottle.

Alfred lifted his head, "We doing it in here?"

"It'll be better for your muscles tomorrow," Matthew said, slowly extracting his finger from his brother's ass. "Lift your butt up, please. I can't put this on in the water."

Alfred did as he was asked, raising his ass just enough for the hole to be out of the churning water. Matthew squirted some of the liquid onto the pads of his fingers then spread the lube over his ass. Alfred shuddered at the feeling, hugging his brother tighter and spreading his legs.

"Why did you say yes?" Matthew asked, adding more lube to his fingers.

"To what?"

"Ivan." His fingers slipped inside.

Alfred let out a shaky sigh, "Don't wanna talk about him right now."

"Tell me."

"I don't- nngh... I don't cheat," Alfred mumbled, opting to distract himself by nibbling Matthew's neck. Matthew's fingers pushed into him, rubbed at his sensitive spot, then spread into a V on the way out to stretch him in slow passes.

"I'm fine with it, it's not cheating whether we're with him or not." He added more lube and an extra finger. "Cheating is doing it secretly."

"You're killing the mood," Alfred said, nipping him on the neck. "Did Max hit you or anything?"

"No, he was pretty nice all things considered," he felt Alfred tense and rolled his eyes. "Not _that kind_ of nice. He was polite."

While he explained everything Max told him, Matthew thrust his fingers a few more times, sure to get Alfred as open and slick as he could, then pulled his hand away to grab hold of Alfred's hip. The older man lowered himself back into the water and, using one hand to steady Matthew's dick, slid down onto him to the hilt.

"So," Alfred said, repositioning his knees to a more comfortable placement. "What you're saying is, we kill this Roderich guy and everything goes back to normal?"

"I don't see why not," Matthew replied. His hands moved around to grab Alfred's ass and lift him up, then push him back down. A soft moan escaped Alfred's lips as he took over, slowly bouncing in his lap. One hand released Alfred's ass to fist in his hair and ease his head down into a deep kiss. Their tongues twisted together wetly, Alfred's quivering breaths and gentle moans filling Matthew's mouth.

He pushed himself up against Alfred and used his hands to help Alfred keep up his hips' rocking tempo. Not that it was difficult in the water; the hot tub did half the work as it dipped and swelled with their movements. Being inside his brother was always a pleasurable experience; Alfred was energetic, curious, willing to try pretty much anything. So hot inside, tight and experienced in his movements.

Alfred rolled his hips, moaning softly into Matthew's ear. He bounced faster, eyes half-lidded and glazed, lips gently parted as he panted with exertion. "I l-love you, Mattie"

Matthew leaned forward and licked the shell of Alfred's ear. When he spoke his voice was breathy and low, "I love you too."

Alfred's eyes opened wide in shock and his breath hitched. A dopey grin grew on his face and his hips stuttered, dropped down one last time and he came into the rolling water. Matthew pushed into his fluttering hole harder to pick up the slack since Alfred was breathing hard and draped limply over him.

"Hurry up and come," Alfred moaned, nails digging into Matthew's shoulders.

"This isn't a race."

"G-god, Mattie I-" he yelped, overly sensitive, any attempt to lift himself off stopped by Matthew's grip on his hips.  "Nngh- stop, hang on..."

Matthew ducked his head and sucked Alfred's nipple between his lips. The older man's back arched, his entire body shivering and blooms of pleasure making him see stars every time Matthew's cock rubbed against his prostate.

"Gimmie a m-minute," he cried, dick hardening again.

"Be quiet and enjoy it," Matthew said around the flesh between his teeth, one hand moving down to squeeze Alfred's cock. He thrust into his brother, picking up as much speed as he could without sloshing water out of the tub. Alfred slumped against Matthew and let himself be used, too tired and sore to help anymore. Each thrust pressed Matthew's cock directly against his spot until he was gasping and crying out in pleasure all over again.

Matthew stroked Alfred's dick, squeezed, focused on the head until his brother's body tensed. He pushed a few more times, small puffs of breath escaping his lips before shuddering. He pulled Alfred down onto himself to be as deep as he could and came with an almost-silent groan. Alfred moaned and came soon after, the hard press of Matt's cock inside pushing him over the edge.

They stayed there for a while, breathing hard and enjoying the feel of the churning water against their sensitive skin. After some time Alfred said, " _God_ , that's exactly what I needed."

Matthew ran his fingers through Alfred's wet hair and hummed in response.

"Let's go to sleep, I'm dying," Alfred whined, lifting himself off of Matthew.

"Arthur and Ivan are waiting for us."

"Let them wait," Alfred scoffed, standing up and reaching for a towel.

"Don't be rude." Matthew reached one hand up into the air.

Alfred glared down at him for a moment before dropped a folded towel into his waiting hand, "Why are you such an asshole?"

"What?"

He stepped out of the hot tub and wrapped a towel around his waist, "I just want to be with you for a while! I don't want to fuck around with them right now. Especially not Ivan."

"I'm sorry," Matthew replied, standing up and unfolding his towel.

Alfred scowled at him but didn't say anything.

"We can't ask them to leave, what if Max shows up at their houses?"

"They can sleep on the floor then," Alfred grumbled, heading over to flop down on the bed.

Matthew frowned, "I didn't think you'd be so upset about everything with Ivan."

"How the fuck did you think I would feel?" Alfred snapped.

Matthew didn't want to tell him that he knew very well how upset he would be but the prospect of a little fun was enough to make him disregard that, so instead he said, "I just want you to have fun once in a while. You're so high-strung."

"I'm not uptight you fucking dick, you helped him rape me."

Matthew came over to the bed and crawled under the covers beside him, "I can't rape you, we're dating."

"You can rape your partner you bitch."

"But you came," Matthew pointed out. "People don't come from rape."

Alfred's cheeks turned pink with embarrassment. He rolled over to not have to let his brother see his shame-filled face. He had a point. Rape was bad and painful and although Alfred had been upset by it and the pain still stuck with him, he _had_ enjoyed it as well. He had asked Ivan to fuck him, after all. Downright begged for it, practically sobbing for Ivan not to tease him.

"Take a nap," Matthew's voice cut through his thoughts. "You'll feel better when you wake up."

"What happened to ' _you might have a concussion_ ,'" Alfred asked, his voice reaching an annoying falsetto to tease Matthew.

"Don't care," Matthew returned, equally as mocking. He dropped a pillow over Alfred's face. "Go to bed, you'll be fine. Probably."

Alfred pulled the pillow away from his face, "I love you, Mattie."

"I know. Thank you."

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia. This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to the lives of any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. I make no money from the writing of this fan-made product.

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